ry depths. And the dull eyes,
watching him from under the heavy lids with an alert vigilance from
which no shift of mood escaped, read his emotion unerringly.

Again Louis leaned forward. But it was a changed Louis. This time the
light fell on a worn face fixed in a grey solemnity. The grave
protesting voice, the outstretched hand driving home its indignant
points, completed the spell.

"No, all is not well at Amboise. They think the King grows old. Poor
humanity must needs grow old, but they are impatient and
would--anticipate age. I have a son, not yet thirteen--but of age to
be king. Silence--silence, he is the Dauphin. It is not for you to
blame--or condemn the Dauphin. Nor does the King's justice condemn
ignorantly. Plots, plots, plots! Plots against the father, God and
the father can forgive; but plots against the King--plots against
France: for these there is no forgiveness and youth is no excuse."

"But, sire," began La Mothe. Then he remembered the Valmy gibbet where
a boy of twelve still hung that the roads of France might be safe, and
his voice choked. The King was right; youth was no excuse.

"There are no buts," said Louis, sternly emphatic, and sank back upon
the pillows. "I have knowledge, I have knowledge, Commines
knows--others--France, Europe--must know later; an honest lad like you
will be believed."

"Three weeks ago I was in Poitou----"

"Yes, and so they will trust you; you are without prejudice, you are
not of the Court."

"I meant, sire, I have no experience."

"And so the nut may be too hard for your teeth? I see no fault in your
modesty: diffidence is not cowardice. But you will have help in your
nut-cracking, you will have three good friends in Amboise, Greed, Fear,
and Love: with these three I have made France what she is. Money--a
man--a woman; what will these not do! With the first--bribe and see
that you do not hold my skin too cheap; Fear--a life forfeit, if I lift
a finger he hangs; Love--a woman."

"A friend, sire?"

"An enemy--but a woman. Fool her: she is young and Amboise is dull. I
have a scheme for you ready made. You sing? But I know you do,
Tristan has told me. Nothing escapes him, nothing: and nothing is too
small for the King's service. Always remember life holds nothing
trivial. Leave Valmy with Commines, but separate on the road and go to
Amboise as a wandering jongleur. They are dull and will welcome any
distraction. You make verses?"