unobtrusive way, who am the real
King of France--now nearly at the pinnacle of my ambition, or shall be
when I have achieved these last moves. And yet I am not happy. It jars
upon me cruelly that I should have to leave this boy. Pooh! Absurd! I
will not think about him," he muttered; and then with a silent mocking
laugh, "And yet what is he? Only, as I say, a pawn, which the
necessities of the position force me to sacrifice."

These thoughts flashed like lightning through his brain, as, grasping
the King's arm with one hand, he waved the other in the air as if in the
act of casting all these thoughts behind him. But he winced the more,
for the thought of Denis alone there in the King's chamber clung to him
and seemed to press him down.

But there was stern work awaiting him, for he would not, he could not
believe that their escape could be as easy as it seemed. The corridor
leading to the great gallery near the King's apartment appeared
perfectly deserted; neither guard nor gentleman in attendance seemed at
hand to hinder their approach to the arras which hid the secret door.
But he did not believe and he would not trust so impossible a state of
things.

Stopping suddenly close up to the panelled wall, he signed to Saint
Simon to close up.

"Take the King's arm," he said; "he needs support. I am going forward.
If you can make me out and the signal I give, follow quickly on. But
wait till I raise my hand."

He walked swiftly on, almost gliding like a shadow over the wall, for
his footsteps made no sound, while as he passed one candle which gave
out a feeble light a curious gleam flashed from one of his eyes.

The next moment he was past, and right in the King's gallery, still
without seeing anything to hinder his signalling to Saint Simon, and
reaching safely the spot opposite to the secret door.

"If I were alone," he thought, "I have but to cross here, pass behind
the arras, make my way to the riverside, and then somehow I could, I
would, reach France, with my country the richer for this night's work.
But there is the King," he muttered softly; "there is the King." And he
pressed himself back against the tapestry, looking in his sombre garb,
in the faint light of the great place, like one of the needlework
figures in the hangings.

But his heart was beating fast, for all at once and quite unexpected
there was the sound of footsteps, so slow and measured that he knew they
must be those of a sentry;