dear, how dreary it is! And I feel as
if I could lie down and go to sleep."

Then with a start he was fully on the alert, ready to step out into such
light as was shed through the window near.

"His Majesty coming back," he muttered, for quick steps were heard
approaching, and a few moments later he stepped quickly out to bar the
way as he did a short time before, and with a feeling upon him that he
would show his master how well he was on the alert.

He challenged, fully believing that it was Henry and the chamberlain,
and started violently on finding out his mistake, for it was Francis,
who cried angrily:

"Who are you?"

"Carrbroke, M. le Comte. This is the way to his Majesty's private
apartments. You cannot pass here."

In an instant Leoni had glided alongside, to lay his hand softly on the
youth's arm.

"My dear young friend," he said, "you do not recognise who it is
speaking. It is the King's friend, the Comte de la Seine. The ballroom
was hot, and these corridors calm, cool, and refreshing. The Comte is
only going round this way to reach his apartment. We can reach it down
this passage, can we not?"

"No, sir," said Carrbroke quietly. "I am sorry to have to turn you
back, but you must seek some other way. I am on guard here, and it is
his Majesty's commands that no one shall pass this private corridor by
night--and no wonder," thought the lad, as he recalled his discovery of
the private doorway not far from where they stood.

Francis uttered an impatient growl.

"Tell him," he said angrily in French, to Leoni--"tell him I object to
being treated like a prisoner"--words which Leoni translated, in the
belief that they were not understood.

"The Comte de la Seine says, Monsieur Carrbroke, that surely his Majesty
would make an exception in favour of his friend."

"I regret it much," was the reply, "but unless the King gives me such
orders in contradiction of those which I have received, I cannot let you
pass. Once more, gentlemen, it is impossible, and you must return. Did
you hear me, M. Saint Simon? Ah, sir, you--" He said no more, for Saint
Simon had passed onward, as if to go on in spite of all that had been
said, but only to turn quickly and seize his arms from behind, while at
the same moment his speech was cut short by Leoni's hand--the subtle
Franco-Italian having literally glided at him to clap a strongly
smelling hand, moist with some pungent fluid, across his mouth.

The action