on present; while the table, heaped with dolls and powder-puff's,
dog-collars and sweet-meats, a mask, a woman's slipper, a pair of
pistols, some potions, a scourge, and an immense quantity of like
litter, had as melancholy an appearance in my eyes as the king himself,
whose disorder the light disclosed without mercy. His turban was awry,
and betrayed the premature baldness of his scalp. The paint on his
cheeks was cracked and stained, and had soiled the gloves he wore. He
looked fifty years old; and in his excitement he had tugged his sword to
the front, whence it refused to be thrust back.

'Who sent you here?' he asked, when he had so far recovered his senses
as to recognise me, which he did with great surprise.

'I am here, sire,' I answered evasively, 'to place myself at your
Majesty's service.'

'Such loyalty is rare,' he answered, with a bitter sneer. 'But stand
up, sir. I suppose I must be thankful for small mercies, and, losing a
Mercoeur, be glad to receive a Marsac.'

'By your leave, sire,' I rejoined hardily, 'the exchange is not so
adverse. Your Majesty may make another duke when you will. But honest
men are not so easily come by.'

'So! so!' he answered, looking at me with a fierce light in his eyes.
'You remind me in season, I may still make and unmake! I am still King
of France? That is so sirrah, is it not?'

'God forbid that it should be otherwise!' I answered earnestly. 'It is
to lay before your Majesty certain means by which you may give fuller
effect to your wishes that I am here. The King of Navarre desires only,
sire--'

'Tut, tut!' he exclaimed impatiently, and with some displeasure, 'I know
his will better than you, man. But you see,' he continued cunningly,
forgetting my inferior position as quickly as he had remembered it,
'Turenne promises well, too. And Turenne--it is true he may play the
Lorrainer. But if I trust Henry of Navarre, and he prove false to me--'

He did not complete the sentence, but strode to and fro a time or two,
his mind, which had a natural inclination towards crooked courses, bent
on some scheme by which he might play off the one party against the
other. Apparently he was not very successful in finding one, however;
or else the ill-luck with which he had supported the League against the
Huguenots recurred to his mind. For he presently stopped, with a sigh,
and came back to the point.

'If I knew that Turenne were lying,' be muttered, 'then indeed--. But
Rosny p