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"Only fools are curious for nothing, and you are no fool, or were not when you left to go to Amboise." He paused, and in the silence Commines searched his wit for some plausible reason for the question he had put to Lessaix. But Louis probed no further. To hear the truth would have suited his purpose no better than it would have suited Commines to tell it.
Lessaix himself was on duty, and as he came forward with outstretched hand Commines required no second glance to tell himself that Ursula de Vesc had construed Tristan's letter aright. Not so frankly would he have been greeted if Valmy's master lay dead in Valmy. "The King expects you," he said, "and by your horses' looks you have lost no time on the road."
There was a perceptible pause, and the third word was harsher, drier than the others, and spoken with a jerk as if forced from the throat under compulsion. "You received my letter written two days ago?" "Yes, Sire, and a second last night. Thank God, with all my heart, it " "Let it wait. The messenger of two days ago, has he come back?" "Not yet. I asked Lessaix." "Why?" "Idle curiosity, Sire."
"Beaufoy, and the password is Amboise." Again Commines nodded. Beaufoy? That, too, was all in his favour. Beaufoy was one of the younger men and not at all in the King's confidence. If Louis had any sinister coup in his mind, Leslie, or Saint-Pierre, or Lessaix himself would have been on duty.
Yes, Ursula de Vesc had saved him from downfall, or worse. Lessaix, watchful as every man was who called Louis master, caught the change of tone and again looked up, but this time with something more than curiosity an anxious wariness, a fear lest some current of events he failed to discover might catch him in its flood and drag him down with its undertow unawares.
His forethought must have run somewhat thus. Lessaix knows that Monsieur de Commines is expected any moment and is to go at once to the King, who waits for him; Monsieur de Commines does not appear, but remains paying his court to the Dauphin at Amboise. The inference would be clear to all men, and Monsieur de Commines would be ruined outright and utterly discredited.
"I asked nothing, sire." "Um; hold it up." Leaning forward Louis bridged his dim eyes with his hand, and under the shadow Lessaix saw the thin mouth open and shut convulsively; but when the hand was lowered the King's face was expressionless. "What else?" "Your Majesty's signet." "Let me see! Let me see! Um; that will do. Put them on the table and go. Where is the messenger?" "He left at once."
As he spoke he ran his finger-tips up the hot neck, leaving tracks of roughened, sweaty hair behind the pressure. "When did you leave Amboise?" "The King expects me? How can that be?" Then as Lessaix, scenting a mystery, looked up curiously Commines made haste to cover his slip, "Or rather, how did you know I was coming?" "Tristan told me as he rode out half an hour ago.
"Um; were the roads bad from Paris?" "He did not say, sire; he never opened his lips." "Silent, was he? Then there is one wise man in France. Thank you, Captain Lessaix." With a salute Lessaix retired, but as he buckled on his sword again Saint-Pierre whispered, "Whence?" "I don't know," replied Lessaix, also under his breath, "but not from Paris!"
I think he expects you." "My sword?" The request staggered him. He had relied upon his sword for the one thrust necessary, then to aid him in his escape, or at least that he might die fighting. "Don't you know that no one approaches the King armed? not even I, not even Lessaix. There is nothing personal in it." "No, I never heard that."
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