r manner failed to betray.

"Why should you leave with Charles?" continued Francis. "Perhaps were
we over-hasty in confiscating the castle of the constable. _Vrai
Dieu_," he added, meditatively. "Had he unbent but a little!
Marguerite told us we were driving him to despair, but the queen regent
and the rest of our counselors prevailed--" He broke off abruptly and
directed a bolder gaze to hers. "May not a monarch, Mademoiselle, undo
what he has done?"

"Even a king can not give life to the dead," she replied, and her voice
sounded hard and unyielding.

"No," he assented, moodily, "but it would not be impossible to restore
the castle--to his daughter."

"Sire!" she exclaimed in surprise; then shook her head. "With your
Majesty's permission, I shall leave with the emperor."

Francis made an impatient movement; her inflexibility recalled one who
long ago had renounced his fealty to the throne; her resistance kindled
the flame that had been smoldering in his breast.

"But if I have pointed out to the emperor that your proper station is
here?" he went on. "If he recognizes that it would be to your
disadvantage to divert that destiny which lies in France?"

His words were measured; his manner tinged with seeming paternal
interest; but, as through a mask, she discerned his face, cynical,
libidinous, the countenance of a Sybarite, not a king. The air became
stifling; the ribaldry of laughter enveloped her; instinctively she
glanced around, and her restless, troubled gaze fell upon the duke.

What was it he read in her eyes? A confession of insecurity, fear; a
mute appeal? Before it all his doubts and misgivings vanished; the
look they exchanged was like that when she had stood on the staircase
in the inn.

Upon the monarch, engrossed in his purpose, it was lost. If silence
give consent, then had she already acquiesced in a wish which, from a
king, became a demand. But Francis, ever complaisant, with an
inconsistent chivalry worthy of the subterfuge of his character,
desired to appear forbearing, indulgent.

"For your own sake," he added, "must we refuse that permission you ask
of us."

She did not answer, and, noting the direction of her gaze, the eager
expectancy written on her face, Francis turned sharply. At the same
time the duke stepped forward.

The benignity faded from the king's manner; his countenance, which "at
no time would have made a man's fortune," became rancorous, caustic;
the corner