Vesc----"

"Stephen, Stephen!" and as he spoke Commines, who had been stooping
over his signal, a tiny paper cross pinned against the foot of the door
so that it blocked the flow of light from the lamp laid on the floor
behind, lifted himself and laid his hand strongly on La Mothe's
shoulder. "Do you know why you are in Amboise at all? Do you know it
is to convict this very Ursula de Vesc of complicity in a plot to
murder the King and place the Dauphin on the throne, and that the King
believes the Dauphin is privy to the scheme? And do you know what part
you are to play?"

Commines spoke in the anxious remonstrance of affection rather than in
anger. There was no censure in the tone, no reproof, a pleading
rather: but when the irritation of offence is raw it resents
expostulation and rebuke alike: they are just so much salt to the
wound. So was it now with La Mothe.

"It is we who conspire," he answered angrily, "we who call ourselves
men and yet creep about a sleeping house to meet by stealth in the
dark. And against whom? Against a weak girl, a weak, defenceless girl
whose one offence is that her love is loyal to a boy as helpless as
herself. A brave conspiracy truly, brave, worthy, and honourable! You
saw her to-night, how she faced us for his sake, unafraid and yet very
sorely afraid because she is so womanly through her courage. A girl
and a half-grown boy! And we call ourselves men."

"Why do you say 'we'? Me she knows and Villon she knows, but not you."

"Some day she will, my hope is some day she will: pray God I be not
ashamed to look her in the face when that day comes."

"Stephen, Stephen, what has changed you? Have you grown mad or is this
that drunkenness?"

"I don't know, I only know it is something new. And if it is that
drunkenness as you call it, then may I never be sober again my life
long."

"Listen," and this time Commines' voice was stern to harshness. The
time for pleading, or even remonstrance, had gone by. A more vigorous
schooling was needed if Stephen La Mothe was to be saved from folly.
"If you must go girl-drunken as every sentimental boy does sooner or
later, do not go blind-drunk or sense-drunk, but keep your eyes open
and your mind clear. Mademoiselle de Vesc may be blameless or she may
not: that is what we are here to prove. You call her weak, but the
greatest folly of a foolish man is to despise weakness. Contempt of
weakness has lost more battles than streng