sigh, he straightened himself, his corpse-like face pinched with care.

"The son of France!" he repeated. "Yes! the son of France! but,
Philip, my friend, my one friend, must the father perish for the son?"

"Oh, sire, sire," cried Commines, deeply moved, both by the words and
the appeal in the voice. "Never that. And it is true--you are France,
France itself as no King ever has been; France in its strength, France
in its hope, and God knows what evil will befall----" He checked
himself sharply as a spasm twisted the King's sunken mouth. Carried
away by his sympathy he had forgotten that it was an almost
unforgivable offence to hint that Louis was not immortal. For him the
word death was wiped from the language. If the dread shadow took form
to strike, those near might say "Speak little," or "Confess," but
nothing more.

But for once the offence passed without rebuke; it was even seized upon
to point a moral, and nerving himself to face the thought the King
completed the sentence.

"God knows what evil will befall France in a boy's hands! And within a
year he will be of age; of age and yet a child. A puppet king of
France!" Louis paused, drawing in his breath with a shudder like a man
chilled to the marrow. "A puppet, a puppet, and in the hands of a
puppet what must the end be? Ah! France! France! France! It is
disaster, unless it can be turned aside. Philip, you must go to
Amboise. Take with you some one you can trust, if in all Valmy there
is such an one!"

"There is, sire; one I can trust as my King can trust me."

"Yes, yes, but not overmuch; do not trust him overmuch. Remember what
I said--suspect, suspect."

"I am not afraid, sire, Stephen La Mothe owes everything to me."

"Gratitude? Is that any reason for faithfulness? Piff!" And the King
blew out his thin lips in contempt. "To bind men to you, Commines, to
bind them so that you may sleep easy o' nights, you must hold them
either by the fear of to-day or the hope of to-morrow. Gratitude!
Thanks for eaten bread! How many are there who owe me everything, and
yet have turned against me. But let that pass; may God and the Saints
forgive them as I do." Louis paused, and a sardonic smile flickered
for an instant across his face. If God and the Saints had no more
forgiveness for his enemies than he had, then their prospects in the
life to come were as miserable as Louis would have made the remnant of
their days in this present worl