ousness which
scarcely ever deserted him--that he was satisfied "he had done his
best," he was in no humour for granting boons.

What hope was there that a mousquetaire should obtain aught from him
that night; should even be able to approach him? Above all, what hope
that such a request as Boussac's--that one of his own subjects who had
helped in the shattering of his great fleet should be pardoned--was
likely to be granted?

Yet, at last, the soldier who had waited so patiently for hours drew
nearer and nearer to the circle in which the arbiter of the destiny of
all in France sat, a crowd of courtiers and nervous petitioners behind
and round him; at last, after having seen countless others bowed and
smiled to, he was face to face with Louis, stammering and scarce
knowing how to begin his request.

But the finger went to the hat, the king's smile--perhaps a little
artificial now--shone on him, the king's soft, courtly voice said:

"Monsieur le lieutenant, have you a petition to make also? I am afraid
it cannot be granted. Is it for promotion?"

"No, sire. It is for a man's life," and before he thoroughly
understood, himself, what he was saying, he poured out his story
before the king and the astonished listeners. And, at last, in a
halting, laboured way it was told. Then the king spoke, while the
shoulder-shrugging, grinning courtiers held their breath to hear his
reply.

"_Mon brave mousquetaire_," he said, "you have been imposed on. De
Vannes never married. I know it well--know, too, the woman whom he
loved, who married De Roquemaure. And even if he had married and had
this son, do you think I would pardon him for doing that for which he
lies under sentence of death? Nay, were he my own I would not do so.
Ah!"--turning to a beautiful blue-eyed woman who stood by the side of
Boussac, "Madame de Verneuil"--and the hand went up to the hat and
lowered it till the fringe touched his right ear--"I rejoice to see
you here to-night." Boussac's audience was over.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE DAY OF EXECUTION.

The night of Sunday had passed; already the holiday-makers were
seeking their beds after a day spent in the country--by some in the
woods of Fontainebleau and St. Germains; by others in the gardens of
Versailles, where they had waited all day to see the king come out
upon the great balcony and salute his people; by others, again, who
had been to Marly to gaze in amazement on distorted Nature; to gaze on
the