_ CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. AND OPENS THE KING'S EYES
The chamberlain had worthily carried out his master's orders, and the scene in connection with the supper that night was brighter than ever; but the King did not seem satisfied. His heavy face looked gloomy, and Francis banteringly asked him if he was too much wearied by the hunt that day, receiving a grave nod in reply.
Later on Francis, who was excited and annoyed by the dullness of his host, made an excuse to leave him and join the dance, but only to find his progress stayed by Leoni, who led him aside to make some communication--one which made his master frown and whisper back angrily. But Leoni spoke again, and Denis, who was near, saw the King make a deprecating gesture with his hands, and then hurry off to enter the _salon_ where the dancing was going on.
Denis stood watching Leoni, who stood looking thoughtfully after his master.
"I thought so," said the boy to himself, for as he watched Leoni he saw the doctor turn slowly and with his peculiar fixed look sweep the well-filled room till his eye rested upon the young esquire.
The next moment he had raised his finger to his lips, gazing at him fixedly for some moments, before turning and moving towards the door, when Denis heaved a deep sigh and looked round in vain in search of Saint Simon; but he was nowhere near, and the boy slowly followed Leoni, whom he found waiting for him just outside the door.
Meanwhile Hurst, upon seeing the Comte's departure, drew near to where Henry sat moody and alone, the various gentlemen in attendance, knowing their master's ways, having drawn back a little, to enter into a forced conversation, waiting for the King's next move.
They had not long to wait, for he suddenly looked round till his eyes rested upon the chamberlain, when he rose, to lay his hand upon his counsellor's shoulder and walk out with him towards the now deserted corridor, into which the strains of music from the ballroom floated again and again.
"There, Hurst," he cried, as soon as they were alone, and they paced together slowly towards the end, "what am I to say to you?"
"Sire?"
"If I were not in a good humour I should be disposed to punish you by the loss of my favour for spoiling what ought to have been a joyous day."
"Sire, I am deeply grieved. You must credit me with anxiety in my duty towards your Majesty."
"Yes, yes, I do," cried the King impatiently. "But your suspicions have been absurd, and have made me behave almost rudely to my brother's ambassador, as noble a gentleman as I ever met. Zounds, man! Is a king's life always to be made bitter by his people's dreams of plots? Your suspicions are all folly. He a prince of France! Absurd!"
The chamberlain walked on in silence, and stopped short where the corridor opened out into a well-lit chamber whose walls were hung with portraits.
"Well," said the King, "what now?"
"Would your Majesty step here into this alcove?" said the chamberlain, after a quick glance around to see that they were alone.
"What now?" cried the King angrily.
The chamberlain made no reply, but still stepped forward to the far side of the chamber, where he took a candle from one of the sconces on the wall to hold it up above his head in front of a large full-length canvas, the work of some great master, whose brush had so vividly delineated the features of his subject that the portrait seemed to gaze fixedly down at the King, while a faint smile just flickered upon its lips.
"Does your Majesty know those features?" said the chamberlain. "Who is that?"
"What!" cried the King, in startled tones. "Philippe de Valois."
"Yes, Sire; and my suspicion grows stronger every hour."
"Hah!" cried the King. "But no: impossible! And yet the same eyes; that same careless, half mocking smile. Hurst, there is something in this. The features are similar."
"Yes, Sire. It is a strong family resemblance."
"But who could it be, and why should he come here? To play the spy; for it could mean nothing else. What sinister plots and plans can there be behind all this? But you were thinking. You know something more?"
"I know no more than your Majesty. I only suspect."
"Suspect! Suspicion! I hate the very sounds of the words, and all the black clouds that hang around them. A family resemblance? Then who could this man be?"
The chamberlain was silent.
"Man," whispered the King hoarsely, "you are my servant. Don't thwart me now. If you value your place here--more, your life--speak out!"
The chamberlain returned the candle to the sconce, and then said slowly:
"Your servant's life is at your service, Sire. I am not sure, but I tell you honestly that which I believe. This gentleman is wearing a disguise, and comes here under an assumed name, and from my soul I believe he is--"
"Who?" whispered the King, grasping him fiercely by the arm.
"Francis, King of France."
"Hah!" ejaculated the King hoarsely, and with his face taking a fierce expression mingled with anger, surprise, and triumph. "And what has brought him here? If you are right. Hurst--mind, I say, if you are right--But you had never seen this man before, and it may be only a resemblance."
"It may, your Majesty, but--"
"If it is," whispered the King, with his face looking purple in the dim light, "the fox has come unbidden into the lion's den, and if the lion should raise his paw, where would be the fox?"
He looked fiercely and meaningly in his follower's eyes.
"France," continued the King, in a hoarse whisper. "France, how much of those fair domains won by my predecessors with the sword have been wrested from the English crown bit by bit--the noble domains over which these Valois now rule as usurpers. Hurst, what if the sceptre of England should be held again swaying our ancient lands of France. Supposing, I say, there were no Valois, or he perforce had been called upon to render back all that had been stolen from our crown. I am the King, and as my father used his gallant sword to gain one kingdom, why should not I by a diplomatic move win back another?"
"Your Majesty is King," said the chamberlain slowly and meaningly.
"Yes," said the King, in a hoarse whisper; "and when I am moved to act my will is strong."
There was silence for a few moments, and then Henry continued angrily:
"A ruse--a trick, put upon me for some strange scheming of his own, a gin, a trap to capture me, but for the setter to be caught himself. Francis, King of France!" he continued hoarsely; and then a peculiar smile, mocking, bitter, and almost savage, came upon his, lips as he gazed piercingly at his companion.
"No, Hurst," he said meaningly, "I know no King of France. He would not dare to beard me in my own home like this. This man, this mock ambassador, this Comte de la Seine, is the only one with whom we have to do--an impostor who shall meet with the trickster's fate."
"But your Majesty--" said the chamberlain eagerly.
"My Majesty, Hurst, is going to work his own will, and as he will."
"But, Sire, you will be just?"
"Yes, Hurst, as I always am. I grant that you may still be wrong, and we will clear this up."
"Your Majesty is going to--"
"Straight to the ballroom," replied the King, "to see this Comte de la Seine and have the truth."
"Now, Sire?"
"Yes, now at once."
The King turned abruptly, and, closely followed by the chamberlain, made for the ballroom, where the dancing was in full progress; but the Comte was not leading one of the brightest ladies of the Court through the mazes of gavotte or minuet, and as the King turned angrily to his chamberlain it was to find him in close converse with one of the gentlemen in attendance.
"The Comte made the excuse of a bad headache, Sire, some few minutes back, and retired to his apartments with his suite," whispered Hurst.
"Then I am afraid we shall make it worse," said the King bitterly. "This way, Hurst; I must have the truth of this before I sleep." And he strode from the room, closely followed by his companion, to whom in his excitement as he followed the angry lion the movements of the dancers seemed mocking, and the music sounded strange. _