rpose. His handwriting would tell them nothing but that
he knew the writer of the letter, whence it came, and that it was
important. To heighten the importance but conceal the cause seemed
wise. Of course presently he must take some one into his confidence,
and from the depth of his soul he regretted the necessity.

That was the curse of kingship--the brain which planned, reconciling
discordant elements, must rely for execution on hands it could not
always control. Yes, that was the vice of government, and the reason
why so many well-devised, smoothly-launched schemes utterly miscarried.
If the brain could only be the hands also! If the hands could only
reach out from where the brain pondered and foresaw! But they could
not, and so he must trust Commines. Trust Commines! A little gust of
anger at his impotence shook him and he shivered, dashing his hands
upon the table; it was never safe to trust any one--never! But he was
helpless, there was no escape, and in turn Commines must trust one
other: trust him with execution, that is, with blind performance, not
with knowledge. Beyond Commines he would trust no man with knowledge,
at least not as yet, nor Commines more than he must. Later it might be
policy to let it be known publicly the great danger which had
threatened him, and France through him, but not till all was over!

Till all was over! Again Louis shivered a little, but not this time
with anger. The phrase was a euphemism for death, and he hated the
word even when wrapped up in a euphemism and applied to another. Death
was death, disguise it in what phrase one might; a horror, a terror,
another vice of kings worse than the first. It said in plain words,
"You can sow, but you may never reap; you can begin, but you may never
finish. Some one else will reap: some one else will finish." Some one
else! The thought was intolerable. He hated, he loathed the some one
else as he hated and loathed death. With a sweep of his arm, as if he
thrust some bodily presence from him, Louis leaned forward and caught
up the despatch. Let him make an end to brooding, here was work to be
done.

Having closely examined the seals securing the back to make certain
they were intact, he ripped apart the threads which bound it round and
round passing through the seals, and drew out the enclosure. It was a
single sheet of stiff paper. This he unfolded, and spreading it flat
upon the table bent over it eagerly. But bef