his brow the scar of an old sword wound; yet a fearless, dashing
countenance; an eye that could kindle to headlong passion, and a
thick-set neck and heavy jaw that bespoke the foeman who would battle
to the last breath.

"Older, Sire?" he replied with composure. "That must needs be, since
living in the saddle ages a man."

"Truly," returned the monarch, instinctively laying his hand upon his
sword. "The clash of arms, the thunder of hoofs, the waving
banners--yes, Glory is a seductive mistress who robs us of our youth.
Have I not wooed her and found--gray hairs? Who shall give me back
those days?"

"History, your Majesty, shall give them to posterity," answered the
duke.

"Even those we lost to Charles?" muttered the king, a shadow passing
over his countenance.

"Glory, Sire, is a mistress sometimes fickle in her favors."

"And yet we live but for--" He broke off abruptly, and with the eye of
a trained commander surveyed the duke's men. "Daredevils; daredevils,
all!" he muttered.

"Rough-looking fellows, Sire!" apologized the duke, "but tried and
faithful soldiers. Somewhat dusty and road-worn." And his eyes turned
meaningly to the king's suite; the flashing girdles of silver, the
shining hilts, the gorgeous cloaks and even the adornment of ribbons.

"Nay," said Francis meditatively, "on a rough journey I would fain have
these fire-eaters at my back. They look as though they could cut and
hew."

"Moderately well, your Majesty," answered the duke with modesty.

"Will you mount, noble sir, and ride with me? Yonder is the castle,
and in the castle is a certain fair lady whom you, no doubt, fain would
see."

Long gazed the Duke of Friedwald at the distant venerable pile of
stone; the majestic turrets and towers softly floating in a dreamy
mist; the setting, fresh, woody, green. Long he looked at this
inviting picture and then breathed deeply.

"Ah, Sire, I would the meeting were over," he remarked in a low voice.

"Why so, sir?" asked the king in surprise. "Do you fear you will not
fancy the lady?"

"I fear she may not fancy me," retorted the nobleman, soberly. "Your
own remark, Sire; that I appear older than you had expected?" he
continued, gravely, significantly.

"A recommendation in your favor," laughed the monarch. "I ever prefer
sober manhood to callow youth about me. The one is a prop, stanch,
tried; the other a reed that bends this way and that, or breaks when
you press it too har