_ CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. DARK WORK
More than one of the Court ladies thought the gallant Comte strange in his manner, as they waited, fully expecting that he would come up and offer his hand to lead them through the next dance; but it soon became evident that nothing was farther from his intentions, and after looking on for a short time he slowly left the great apartment, and began to make his way towards his own rooms. "I don't like it; I don't like it," he muttered. "It is vile and degrading. I feel as if only to think of it were lowering myself to the level of some cutpurse. I would I had never come. No," he added sharply; "the time has passed too gaily for me to say that; and the good, bluff, hot-tempered, cheery Henri! I like the brave Englishman, and my faith, I have made him like me, traitor as I am.--No, it is not I. It is the spirit of that cunning, subtle Leoni, with his horrible fixed eye. I cannot tell why, but he masters me--King as I am. He turns me round his finger and forces me to obey even against my better feelings; for I think I have some. Can it be that he is more than man, that he possesses some strange power over one's brain, as he does over the body when one is ill? Well, I'll be master now. I will not do this thing. By my sword, is this cunning Italian to force his master to become a thief? No! He shall learn to-night that I'll have none of it. Conceal who I am! Play the part of a masquerading spy! No! to-morrow I'll tell my brother Harry the whole truth."
He started violently as he came to this conclusion, for a dark figure suddenly glided from behind one of the statues in the long passage he was following. "You, Leoni?" he said, in a hoarse whisper. "M. le Comte! Yes, it is I. You have been long."
"Long?" said Francis haughtily. "How--" He stopped short, for Leoni placed his lips close to his ear. "France is anxious, Sire, and the time has come."
"The time!" said the King sharply. "Not for that?"
"Yes, M. le Comte, for that. I have been waiting for the fateful moment to arrive for the great opportunity, and it has come."
"But," cried Francis, "I have been thinking--my position here--my good friend the King. Leoni, all this must end; I cannot, I will not do this thing."
"Sire!" whispered Leoni.
"No, no, man. It is the Comte de la Seine you speak to, and who tells you he will let you lead him no more through these devious ways. Who are you that you should dare to force me onward into such a crime?"
"Your servant, sir, but at the same time he to whom it is given to lead you aright towards making your country the greatest in the world."
"Through crime?" said the King hotly.
"The acts of kings, sir, are outside crime. You are the anointed, and can do no wrong."
"Of my own will, no; but this:--"
"Sir, the spirit of your country calls upon you to act. The fateful jewel we came to seek is ready to pass into your possession, and the time has come--"
"Leoni, I will not hear you. I swear I will not sully mine honour with such an act. This deed shall never be done by me."
"Deed--deed, sir--act! You speak as if it were a crime," whispered Leoni.
"It is a crime," cried the King angrily. "Dare not to speak to me of this deed again. Now, enough. The King expects me back, and to-morrow I will place myself outside temptation, and leave this place. Whatever happens, my visit here is at an end."
"Your visit ends to-night, sir," said Leoni, in a low, harsh whisper; and as he spoke he leaned forward, passed his hands quickly before the King's face, and then caught him by the wrist.
"Leoni!" said Francis quickly. "What means this?"
"I have told you, sir. It is too late to attempt to shrink back now that the fateful moment has arrived. Quick, sir, and in an hour's time we shall be on our way to the coast. Silence, sir," he whispered sharply, as Francis essayed to speak, looking half dazed the while in his companion's eye, as Leoni leaned towards him with his hot breath passing over the monarch's face. "This way, sir--quick!"
"Where? Where?" faltered the King. "What does this mean, Leoni?" he whispered. "Have you been tricking me with one of your accursed drugs?"
"Silence, sir! I am calling you back to your duty," whispered the doctor, as he guided Francis quickly along the passage, still holding him tightly by the wrist, "for once more I pray you to prove yourself our country's greatest son."
Francis made no reply, no sign, but, yielding helplessly, allowed himself to be led to the door of his ante-chamber, where the door opened without being touched, and, once inside, closed behind them, Saint Simon having been waiting, while Denis, who looked pale and excited by the light of the two candles that illumined the room, rose up from where he had been kneeling, securing the straps of a valise.
No one spoke a word, for Leoni raised his hand as if commanding silence, as he still held the wrist of Francis, who gazed vacantly from one to the other as if he were in a dream.
"Is the Comte ill?" said Denis anxiously.
"A little over-excited," said Leoni quickly. "A cup of water, boy." And as he spoke, without leaving his grasp of the King's wrist, Leoni thrust the hand at liberty into his breast and drew forth a little golden _flacon_, which glistened in the light.
"Set down the cup," said Leoni quickly, as Denis returned from the bedchamber with the water. "Now, boy, unscrew the top of this, and hold it in your hand."
Leoni held out the little glistening flask, retaining it tightly, while Denis twisted off the tiny, cup-like top.
"Not that way, boy; turn it up so that I can fill it to the brim. Now," he whispered, "empty it into the water, and screw on the top once more."
This was quickly done, and the _flacon_ replaced.
"Now," continued Leoni, "hand the cup to the Comte. The ballroom was overheated, and the wine he has drunk to-night has affected him.--Drink, sir; you will be better then."
The King started slightly, looked wildly in the eyes that seemed to master him, and with a slight shiver took the handed cup, drained it, and uttered a low, deep sigh.
"Ah," said Leoni, smiling in a peculiar way. "Now, gentlemen, the time has come for action. You, Saint Simon, be silent, and alert. There must be no bloodshed unless it is to save the Comte. You will come with us, and I shall depend upon your sword for our protection if there is peril in the way. You, Denis, boy," he continued, turning to the young esquire, who stood looking on now with his lips apart and a strange feeling of misery and despair oppressing him, "you have your duty to perform."
"Not to--" began Denis; but he was checked by the angry gesture the doctor made.
"Silence, sir! Your master's work. Follow us outside, and remain there on guard. The Comte's valise is ready. Never mind our own. Here, quick! Where is the cloak?"
Denis darted to a _garde-robe_ and drew out the monarch's cloak.
"That's right. Throw it down there. You will now allow no one to pass in here, but stand on guard till we return. If we are not back here by the time the castle clock has chimed twice you will take the cloak and valise, go down the long corridor, if possible unseen, and make for the stables, where you will have the horses saddled at once."
"But--"
"But!" snapped out Leoni. "They must be saddled. Quick! Slip off my pouch and gird it on. There is gold enough within, and if that will not move the people there you have your sword."
Denis uttered a sigh of relief as he hastily unclasped the doctor's belt, for this was work he felt that he could do.
The next minute he was following his companions across the ante-chamber, ready to close the door behind them and place himself on guard in a gloomy angle of the corridor, from whence as he watched them he saw their figures seem to glide along the lighted portion, the Comte yielding entirely to his leader's every motion, till they passed quickly out of the sentry's ken. _