are right about that portrait. Ambassador--poet--brilliant
conversationalist--one who has won himself into favour with us all.
Hah!" he went on. "He can be no Comte de la Seine! Can you ever trust
a Frenchman? But come on!" And he led the way back into the long
gallery. "I've got ears like a cat to-night," he said; "but
unfortunately not the eyes of one. Surely those were footsteps down
yonder?"

"Yes, Sire," said Hurst. "Beneath that window--a white doublet!"

"Yes," cried the King. "Come on!"

"But the guard, Sire? Shall I gammon them?"

"No, no," cried the King impatiently. "This is exciting. We will be
our own guard, and find out the truth ourselves."

The King and the chamberlain had not gone many yards along the gallery
when they they came to a halt, for a figure barred the way.

"Who goes there?" came from out of the gloom.

"Pst!" said the King. "Young Carrbroke.--England!" he cried.

The figure came nearer, into the light of a window--a slim figure in a
white doublet; and the radiance of the moon flashed on a bared and
shining sword.

"Your Majesty!" he exclaimed, and he dropped on one knee.

"Rise," said Henry. "You are on duty here?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Has anyone passed?"

"No, Sire."

"You are certain?"

"Quite certain, Sire."

"Good. Come, Hurst!" And the two proceeded on their way, turning the
corner of the long gallery, passing from gloom to silvery light, and
again into the dusk, as they walked beneath the windows, while at the
angle the lustrous splendour was shed through red glass, falling
brilliantly on the King's plumed hat, his sword and royal star, as the
pair disappeared.

Carrbroke turned and looked after the retreating figures.

"I wish," he murmured, "that his Majesty had ordered me to follow him."
And he stood gazing in the direction the King and chamberlain had taken,
till growing weary, he stepped aside into the shadow, where he could
half seat himself, half lean against the end of a great settee. "How I
do hate this guard work of a night! Yes, and there's the music still
going on. I just heard one strain. All bright and gay yonder, and here
all dark and dull. But it's an honour, I suppose, to be on the watch
over the ways to his Majesty's private apartments, and have him come and
find me here. It means promotion some day, such private service as
this. I wonder where French Denis is? Dancing with the prettiest girl
he can find, I'll be bound. Oh