before ever i had set foot in plessis i had been warned that louis was a man of many moods, many contradictions. some of these sides of character i had already seen, but now a new, and at times a nobler vein, was brought to the surface; i was to see the king who governed. france had had kings who prayed, kings who fought, kings who reigned, but rarely a king who governed.

the apartment at the end of which we stood was long, narrow, and lofty, with windows only to the south. these were wider than the average in plessis but were so fast barred that the power of the sun was greatly broken even though there were no hangings to shut out the heat. the floor was cumbered by but little furniture. a narrow table stood near the farther end with a few carved chairs surrounding it; a sacred picture or two, with a crucifix between, broke the dull flat of the walls; beyond these there was nothing of ornament. a prosperous merchant in any of the larger cities would be better housed than was louis of france in his private cabinet.

beyond the table the eastern end of the room terminated in an apse partly cut off by curtains, a kind of oratory dimly visible by the aid of a single hanging lamp. facing the table and with his back to the oratory sat the king, a litter of papers spread out before him. he was again dressed in scarlet satin heavily fringed with fur, and there was such a tinge of colour on his hollow cheeks that at first i thought he was in better health than at the time of his seizure. but presently it was clear that this wholesomeness came not from within but from without, and was nothing more than the reflection of his clothing. it was a trivial thing, and yet its very triviality was significant of the king's thoroughness. louis was as careful of his complexion as any faded coquette, but the deception was one of policy, not vanity. it was not well for france that men should know how ill was the king of france.

at his elbow stood rochfort the chancellor, nor, though there was a swift upward glance of the king's eyes, did our entrance turn aside the flow of words.

"i repeat," he was saying, rustling his hand among the papers, "spain will not trouble us. her toy, the kingdom of naples, fills her mind for the present. what says the scripture?"—and he crossed himself, bowing with a duck of the head towards the table, and patting at a venture one of the leaden images hung about his person. in his opinion all the saints were on his side, and it did not matter very much which he invoked—"a fool's eyes are on the ends of the earth! let spain divide herself in italy; rome may be trusted to see she does not grow too strong; there are such things as estates of the church! eh, rochfort, eh? well, what next?" again he glanced at us, still standing where we had entered. "england? i think not, i think not. now that edward has eaten himself to death—dear edward—there is no need even to fling a sop to england. peace in the south, peace in the north, there remains then our beloved—son! our beloved fool!" he snarled suddenly, both his hands shivering amongst the papers like a wind in dry leaves, while he rocked to and fro on his seat, his head sunk between his shoulders like some painted image of malevolent death. "oh that such a father should have such a son! rochfort! it makes me—it makes me—well, well, well, even he has his uses; he reminds me of flanders. flanders!" he was gnawing his finger-tips now, his glaring eyes fixed on us, but vacantly, as though he saw us not.

monsieur de commines touched my elbow.

"there is a stroke coming, be on your guard," he said, without seeming to speak, "i know the symptoms!"

"flanders!" went on the curiously roughened shrill voice that vibrated through me like the jarring of a tense chord, "there lies our business to-day. let spain grow weak in italy, let england prey upon herself till only the picked bones are left, the policy of france is to widen her borders near home. rochfort, we must have flanders. the dauphin, our beloved—fool! is contracted to that milk-mouthed flemish princess of three and a half. that marriage will never come to pass, and we must make good our claim now."

as in the games with these playing-cards which his majesty had introduced into court use there are certain well-defined rules, so also are there in the greater game of politics. when the king paused, with a challenge in his voice and attitude, monsieur de rochfort promptly responded to his lead, asking the question he was meant to ask.

"flanders? yes, sire, but how make good our claim now? nay, if i might hint a doubt, have we a claim?"

"yes, yes, yes," answered louis, his voice rising clear above its common level of sharp huskiness. the chancellor's astute second question went farther than the king had intended, but not too far, for a smile twitched his lips. "the claim of every just man to right the wrong, to free the oppressed, and bring intolerable disorder to an end. flanders is in flames and i must quench the fire for my dear son's sake. it has been reported to me——"

again his finger-tips were drawn in between the yellow teeth, and again monseigneur nudged me. "again i say, be on your guard," he whispered almost soundlessly.

"——reported on high authority that a certain jan meert holds the country in terror, burning, ravaging, murdering, plundering where he pleases, and with none to check him. the peasantry he grinds, the lesser lords he crushes one by one. the subjects of the princess who is to be my beloved son's dear wife go in fear of their lives because of this jan meert, and i have a mind to make a sharp end of jan meert. eh, chancellor?"

"it would be bare justice, sire," began rochfort cautiously. this time the lead was not so clear, and louis did not easily pardon blunders. "indeed, a righteous act, but—but—"

"we are in plessis and flanders is far off? splendour of god! rochfort, are my fingers so weak or my arm so short that for the honour of god and the upholding of the law i cannot reach and crush a miserable plundering rogue? by saint claude! i'll do it, i'll do it—if it be worth my while. eh, monsieur le prince, whom have you there with you? is it some private business? perhaps some petition to present? some news to tell? chancellor, we will excuse you; de talmont has something to say, and you know i am always greedy of secrets. kings govern by hiding their knowledge. qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare. and your companion? ah ha! ah ha! it is—yes, yes, it is monsieur hellewyl. well, monsieur, do you still desire to serve france?"

as we moved forward, rochfort retired by a door at the side of the oratory, leaving us alone with the king. but though the question asked was a direct one, i could only answer it by a bow. my mouth had suddenly gone dry, so that i dared not attempt words. but for monsieur de commines' hint i might have assumed that our overhearing of the king's reference to jan meert was coincidence, but monseigneur's significance forbade that mistake. louis was dangling his bribe, but a bribe to what end? it was de commines who replied for me.

"i can say yes to that, sire."

"so, so, but of all men, d'argenton, you should know we can only employ servants who are faithful."

"i guarantee monsieur de helville's fidelity, sire."

"you guarantee? you! of what use is that to me? am i to hang you if this de helville of yours breaks faith? and yet it is guarantees i want. have you a father or a mother, monsieur?"

"neither, sire," i replied, wetting my lips, "both are dead."

"that is unfortunate," he said, the sour sardonic smile twitching his mouth afresh, "for i have noticed that a man is sometimes faithful when i can hold and crush his mother, as i hold and crush this," and his fingers shut viciously over a sheet of the paper spread in front of him, rasping it into a crumpled mass, which he flung briskly aside. "but not all men, no! some are superior to such weakness and they mostly rise high—when they are not hung first! sisters, then? brothers? none? well, they would not be sufficient, especially if the brother were an elder one. what then? solignac is burned, there are no lands to forfeit; with you it is all to gain and nought to lose, and yet the fear of loss is a surer guarantee than the hope of gain. suggest something, d'argenton."

"there are other women in the world besides mothers, sire."

louis nodded and his cold eyes travelled over me thoughtfully. as once before he had searched my thoughts, he was now appraising my person as one would the points of a horse.

"twenty-five, broad enough, tall enough, comely enough, and not altogether a fool. who is the woman, monsieur de helville?"

had i been more of a courtier i could have lied, warned by the king's cruel cynicism. but at the sudden question the blood rose to my face, and i stammered:

"there is none, your majesty, at least there is none worthy——"

"oh ho! he is modest, this sucking envoy of yours, d'argenton. well, all the better. come, monsieur, her name and degree? the king speaks."

from mockery he passed into incisive demand, and though what i had already said was true enough in the sense he meant, i was constrained to answer. in five minutes he had dragged from me all there was to know concerning brigitta and, in his cunning, inferred much more than the truth. with his elbows on the table, and one hand half-covering his mouth, he stared up at me until i ended, the sallow parchment of his face withered into wrinkles.

"a peasant! and he would marry her! what do you say to that, d'argenton?"

"only that monsieur de helville is a man of contradictory tastes, sire; but, for my part, i prefer second thoughts."

"pish! you talk riddles, and i do not like what i do not understand," said louis. though he spoke to commines, his gaze never left my face, and i was conscious that he played with me as a tolerant cat plays with a mouse. "so you would marry her, though she is only a peasant? some would say, have you no droits de seigneur in your parts! and cry fie! on you for your honesty. but not i. her limbs may be as white as any satin lady's, her cheeks as pink, her lips as red to kiss, her breath as sweet, and what more can five and twenty ask! eh?"

he paused, as if for an answer, but i, conscious of monseigneur's veiled reference to mademoiselle, and that i was practising at least half a lie, could do no more than stammer an inane something to the effect that he was very good, which was in itself a lie, and at which banality the grin broke out afresh.

"for my part," he went on, "i am well enough pleased. after all, you are a gentleman; the breed will be one degree nearer to the sod and all the better for the mixture. it is from the people that salvation must come to the nation, not from the nobles. besides she is a hostage, and being a peasant, will be the easier handled. for her sake, be faithful, monsieur, or by god!" and leaning aside, he shook his finger backwards and forwards at the dim shrine behind him, "by god! i say, those white limbs shall suffer, and those red lips scream, nor will all the love in the world keep a curse of gaspard de helville off them. the marriage bed with solignac as your roof-tree, or the naked rack, monsieur, and at your own choice."

"i have already promised, sire——"

"no, monsieur, no," he interrupted, "you have promised nothing. d'argenton has promised for you, which is quite another thing. promises? bah! what are promises? i have known even kings break them! give me an oath." fumbling at his throat he loosed a collar of reliquaries which hung round his neck and spread it on the table before him with more real reverence than i had ever yet seen him display, even when taking the name of christ in his mouth. "now, monsieur, lay your hand there. no, no, down on your knees, on your knees. what! you kneel to me, and yet dare stand upright in the presence of god almighty, before whom you swear? down on your knees, i say! when you call christ and his saints to witness. now, repeat: i gaspard de helville, otherwise, hellewyl, swear by my honour in this life, and by my salvation in that to come, that i shall perform the king's service faithfully to the end, or, failing such performance, will return forthwith to plessis to confess the failure and its cause, so help me god and his saints."

speaking from my knees, and with both hands spread over the little heap of holy things, i repeated the oath clause by clause. as i ended, and while still kneeling, louis snatched the necklet from under my palms, and touching a spring in one of the reliquaries, pressed the little grey morsel it contained to my lips.

"consummatum est!" he cried triumphantly, "now indeed we have you, have you body and soul, bound fast for this world and that which is to come. 'tis the cross of saint lo, monsieur de helville, whereon who forswears himself dies within the year and perishes eternally. the guarantees are complete. what a man will not do for a woman's sake he will for his life—if not for his soul. his soul!" he groaned complainingly, the unctuousness slipping out from his voice as suddenly as it had slipped in. "we spend so much time saving our souls that france suffers. cannot the saints save us and have done with it! but there's a thought there; d'argenton, your arm."

pushing back his chair, the king rose painfully to his feet, a meagre skeleton of a man, bent by more than the weight of years.

"on this occasion when we seek the peace of the world it would be a christian duty to ask the blessing of saint eutropius."

leaning on monseigneur, louis limped towards the oratory, dragging one foot rasping on the floor as he walked.

"it can do no harm," i heard him mutter. "it is always well to keep heaven on our side, eh, d'argenton?"

"yes, sire, but is it wise that the priest should over-hear——?"

"tut, tut; he never leaves plessis. besides, a priest has a neck between his frock and his shaven crown as well as another man."

"but, sire, his office?"

louis paused, looking round, so that i saw the profile of his wrinkled forehead and thin nose white against the gloom of the shrine.

"i am faithful to the church, d'argenton, no man more so, but, by god! the church had better be faithful to me, for there's no benefit of clergy to traitors! we desire your prayers, dear father," he went on loudly, "to the end that an enterprise of peace may have the blessing of saint eutropius upon it. only, no latin, pray in honest french so that i, as well as the good saint, may understand what you say." down on his knees he went by the rail, monseigneur on a faltstool behind him, while i, apparently forgotten, knelt in turn on the bare floor. "to the point, and not too long," said louis. "like myself, he is busy in good works, and we must not waste his time."

out from the deeper shadow at the side of the altar a black-frocked figure stole into view.

"then you do not desire a special office, sire?" said a soft voice.

louis raised his head.

"anything, man, so that you are quick, and to the point. if i could have spoken for myself, we would have done by this."

there was a brief silence, to allow, no doubt, for a collecting of thoughts. where a man is accustomed to have prayers put into his mouth it is not always easy to draw them fresh from the heart upon an emergency. but at last the soft voice broke into a murmur.

"forasmuch, oh holy saint eutropius, as it has pleased thee to put into the heart of thy faithful servant purposes of blessed peace, grant, we humbly beseech thee, that the consummation he seeks may richly abound to—to—"

"the greatness of france," interrupted louis in a loud voice; "make haste to the end."

"the greatness of france," went on the soft voice submissively, "and the furtherance of the lord's eternal kingdom. grant, also, we pray thee, that upon the king, thy servant, may descend with great power refreshment and strength to body and soul——"

"there, there," said louis, rising heavily to his feet, "cut it short at the body and leave the soul for another time. it is not well to importune the blessed saint by too many requests at once. the body will do for to-day." and once more taking monseigneur's arm, he shuffled back to his seat.