s of his mouth appeared almost updrawn to his nostrils. He
had little reason to care for the duke, and this interruption, so
flagrant, menacing almost, did not tend to enhance his regard. In
nowise daunted, the young man stood before him.

"I trust, Sire, your Majesty will reconsider your decision?"

With a strained look the young girl regarded them. To what new dangers
had she summoned him? Was not she, the duke, even the emperor himself,
in the power of the king, for the present at least? And knowing well
Francis' headstrong passions, his violence when crossed, it was not
strange at that moment her heart sank; she felt on the brink of an
abyss; a nameless peril toward which she had drawn the companion of her
flight. It seemed an endless interval before the monarch spoke.

"Ah, you heard!" remarked Francis at length, satirically.

"Inadvertently, Sire," answered the duke. His voice was steady, his
face pale, but in his blue eyes a glint as of fire came and went.
Self-assurance marked his bearing; dignity, pride. He looked not at
the young girl, but calmly met the scrutiny of the king. The latter
surveyed him from head to foot; then suddenly stared hard at a sword
whose hilt gleamed even brighter than his own, and was fashioned in a
form that recalled not imperfectly a hazard of other days.

[Illustration: He looked not at the young girl, but calmly met the
scrutiny of the king.]

"Where did you get that blade?" he asked, abruptly.

"From the daughter of the Constable of Dubrois."

"Why did she give it to you?"

"To protect her, Sire."

The monarch's countenance became more thoughtful; less acrimonious.
How the present seemed involved in the past! Were kings, then,
enmeshed in the web of their own acts? Were even the gods not exempt
from retributory justice? Those were days of superstition, when a
coincidence assumed the importance of inexorable destiny.

"Once was it drawn against me," said Francis, reflectively.

"I trust, Sire, it may never again be drawn by an enemy of your
Majesty."

The king did not reply, but stood as a man who yet took counsel with
himself.

"By what right," he asked, finally, "do you speak for the lady?"

A moment the duke looked disconcerted. "By
what right?"

Then swiftly he regarded the girl. As quickly--a flash it seemed--her
dark eyes made answer, their language more potent than words. He could
but understand; doubt and misgiving were forgotten; the hesi