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He was not learned in women's stuffs, or the hundred little arts through which an accent, as it were, is put upon a charm already sufficiently gracious, or a beauty brought into yet clearer relief for the luring and undoing of the unsuspecting male, and so could not have told whether Ursula de Vesc was clad in sober grey or sunny lightness.
Guy de Molembrais was alive a week before we left Valmy. Saxe has lied, lied, lied. Do you see it, Uncle? I knew he lied. Oh, you hound! you hound! And you had a letter from Valmy this afternoon? That accounts " "Hush, Monsieur La Mothe, hush." Rising from her chair Ursula de Vesc almost put her hand over La Mothe's mouth in her efforts to silence him.
A single word spoken in reversal of her afternoon's denial would justify But swiftly as thought grew from thought Ursula de Vesc was yet swifter in her reply. "I think you mean to be kind, Monsieur d'Argenton, and for that I am grateful. Saxe, we are waiting." "Two days ago Hugues came to me again. I was in the stables "
What has Suzanne in common with Ursula de Vesc?" "Only that I love her as you loved Suzanne," answered La Mothe. "Ursula de Vesc? Stephen, at the least she is the King's enemy." "Yes, he told me so himself." "And at the worst " "There is no worst," said La Mothe doggedly. "There is no plot against the King, no plot at all."
Let him drown and there was an end to the tangle which made a hell in the possible heaven of Amboise, an end to the unnatural strife of father and son, an end to the threatened rending asunder of France, who was the mistress and mother of them all, whether King, Dauphin, or pawn in the terrible game of life and death, an end to the danger which hung over the head of Ursula de Vesc.
La Mothe felt rather than saw his bridle caught, wrenching his horse backward into a gloom so heavy that those behind them would have passed them by but that Grey Roland, chafing at the pressure on the bit, tossed his head and set the cheek-chains jangling. Instantly the foremost rider checked, and a voice called out of the darkness, "Who is there? Stephen! Stephen!" It was Ursula de Vesc.
"There is no such critic as the one who fails to understand," said Villon, his wrinkled face white with anger, "and I see I was right at first, and should have said Mademoiselle and Monseigneur, not Monseigneur and Mademoiselle." "Master Villon, you are impertinent," broke in Commines, who loved Ursula de Vesc little, but hated Villon more.
But, Uncle, this playing at thief in the night is intolerable. It will be very much better to say quite plainly to Mademoiselle de Vesc "
Mademoiselle de Vesc has always opposed me, but that is nothing; has always striven to thwart me, but for your sake that could be forgotten; has always flouted and belittled me, but for your sake that could be forgiven. You are as the son of my love, and what is there that love will not forgive will not forget? These weigh nothing, nothing at all.
"I see no hope," said Commines, "no hope but the one way," and Stephen La Mothe knew that one way was murder. Abruptly he turned upon his heel. "The half-hour must be almost up," he said; "let us go to her." "Say to Mademoiselle de Vesc that Monsieur d'Argenton requires to speak with her in the Hercules room." It was the Judge who spoke.
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