! no!
Even then it is doubtful, worse than doubtful. If Charles of Orleans
were king it would be different. He is no child and old enough to be
grateful. Always remember, Stephen, that a child is never grateful; it
forgets too soon."

"And I am a grown man, Uncle, and so never can forget."

"I know, my son," and Commines' stern eyes softened. "I told the King
you were faithful, and already he trusts you as I trust you," which was
rather an overstatement of the case, seeing that Louis trusted no man,
not even Commines' self. "To-morrow you are to see him."

"Then I hope his service, no matter what it is, will take me out of
Valmy."

"Why?"

For a moment La Mothe hesitated. The thought in his mind seemed at
variance with his assertions of maturity and manhood, but he spoke it
with characteristic frankness.

"Valmy frightens me."

"Why?" repeated Commines.

"Because of its silences, its coldness, its inhumanity--no, not
inhumanity, its inhumanness. In Valmy no man sings; in Valmy few men
laugh. When they speak they say little and their eyes are always
afraid. And they are afraid; I see it, and I am growing afraid too."

"But half an hour ago you were singing?"

"But I am only nine days in Valmy. And sometimes when I sing I
remember where I am and stop suddenly. It is as indecent as if one
sang in the house of the dead. Soon I shall always remember and not
sing at all. And I do not wonder that few men laugh."

"Why?" asked Commines for the third time. This was a new side to
Stephen La Mothe and one that in the King's service--not forgetting his
own--should not be ignored. Often in his career he had seen a
well-laid plan miscarry because some seeming triviality was ignored.
Was it not one of Louis' aphorisms that life held nothing really
trivial?

"Because it is a house of the living dead."

"For God's sake, Stephen, hush. If the King heard you speak of his
feebleness in such a way there would be a sudden end to both you and
your service."

"The King? But I don't mean the King. I mean----" He paused as if
searching for a comprehensive word or phrase, and presently he found
it. "I mean the justice of the King."

"Well?" Commines' throat seemed suddenly to have gone dry, so that the
word came harshly. Within the hour the King had used the same phrase,
and the coincidence startled him unpleasantly.

But La Mothe made no immediate reply. To answer the little jerked-cut
dry interrogat