ierre
sent you? Is the King ill--is he--is he?--you of all men know what we
fear for him."

"No, my son, no; the King is as you left him, well, praise God! and
strong: it is he himself who has sent me after you. He said that such
a mission as yours had great need of the blessing of God upon it."

"And was that all his message?"

"That he committed France to your care. He spoke, no doubt, of the
Dauphin, who is the hope of France."

"Yes," answered Commines drily, "I do not doubt he spoke of the
Dauphin. Now, Father, I fear you must dine in haste, for it is time we
were on the road."

"A crust in my hand to eat as we go is enough. It makes me so happy,
Monsieur d'Argenton, to see the King at last taking thought for his
son."

"Yes," repeated Commines, with the same dryness. "The Dauphin is
indeed much in his thought. But though we are in haste there is no
need you should die of starvation. France has need of you, Father
John. There are plenty to play the devil's game by living, do not you
play it by dying before your time."

Twenty minutes later they were again on the road, La Mothe's
saddle-bags fastened on his led horse. He himself followed at the hour
named by the King, but on foot, a knapsack strapped across his
shoulders and on it a lute in open advertisement of his new trade. His
sword was with his saddle-bags, but was no loss, so free from danger
were the roads under the iron persuasion of the justice of the King.
Nor were travellers numerous. Only twice was he passed, once by a
courier riding post to Valmy, and once by a lad, little more than a
child in age, who thundered up from behind on a great raw-boned roan
horse and disappeared ahead in a cloud of dust.

CHAPTER VIII

THE BLACK DOG OF AMBOISE

Blessed four-and-twenty. From the first breath of life until the last,
even though by reason of strength there be four-score years, is there a
more perfect age? The restraints of the schoolboy are left behind, the
tree of the knowledge of good and evil has scattered its fruit about
the feet, all sweet, all fresh in their newness, all a delight, even,
alas, the worst of them: that of the tree of life seems just within the
reach, and the burdens of the world are as yet on other men's backs.
Even if the Porter's Knot, which all must bear sooner or later, is
already on the shoulder, the light heart of four-and-twenty is
untroubled. It believes, in its optimism, that it will tumble the lo