s fear was less a dread than an awe. The gaiety of
his laughter had clean gone from him, and his heart of song was hushed:
even the crude, ironical satire of his uncomprehending youth was
stayed. He had made grim jest of the justice of the King, and now the
King's justice, in its sternest, most sinister incarnation, rubbed
shoulders with him. It was little wonder that his mood was sobered as
his mind, instinctively swayed by Commines' almost frenzied insistence,
groped its way step by step from Poitou to Valmy in a troubled
endeavour to recall just what had passed between them when Tristan's
interruption pricked the bubble of his irony.

And he succeeded in part. First there had been the coiner of Thouars,
then the brawling drunkard of Tours, the thief of Valmy, the
nettle-gatherer, and lastly Molembrais who held the King's
safe-conduct. Truly the meshes of the net of Justice were small when
not even a twelve-year thief, a common quarreller in his cups, or the
holder of the King's safe-conduct could slip through. Perhaps it was
as he spoke of this last the door had opened. It was then he had hoped
he might be far from Valmy the day his passion of soul was stirred. It
expressed his mood of the moment, but now he knew he had said more,
much more, than he had meant, as youth so often does in its gay
self-sufficiency, and the words as they stood--if Tristan had caught
them--were no commendation to either favour or confidence. How could
the King trust him when his foolish satire had so plainly hinted that
he did not trust the King? It would be unreasonable: faith begets
faith. For an instant it flashed across his mind that he might explain
away the words, but in the same instant he dismissed the thought.
Explanation would never win belief from such a man as Tristan, nor
could he bend his repugnance to such a familiarity.

So in silence they crossed the courtyard where Leslie's Scottish
archers lurked in every shadow, in silence passed the many guards
grouped at the gateway to the King's lodgings, in silence traversed the
great square hall, gaunt and comfortless, but brighter than daylight
from its many lamps--the King was afraid of gloom--and in silence
mounted the stone stairway. At its head they turned along the
right-hand corridor, entering a silent ante-room with sentinels at its
door; at a further door, masked by drawn curtains, the guard was
doubled. Force, vigilance, suspicion, were the dominant notes of