and so he did, and with him came monseigneur, though not so quickly but i had time to lessen the disorder of my dress.

"go thou upstairs and wait, boy," he said curtly; then, closing the door, came forward with both hands outstretched, but in appeal rather than welcome. "mademoiselle de narbonne! mademoiselle de narbonne! what does this madness mean? would you ruin us all?"

"monsieur de helville—what of him? oh, monseigneur, what has happened?"

"de helville!" and he drew in his breath with a prolonged hiss like a man who receives a hurt. "i feared it, from the first i feared it; poor de helville! mademoiselle, it is no fault of mine."

"oh, monseigneur!" i answered bitterly, for this excusing of himself before he was blamed angered me, "when were you ever at fault; you who are so clever, so cautious—of yourself! but what of monsieur de helville? who is too honest to be clever at court, too single of heart to think of himself. is anything decided?"

for a moment he stood looking down upon me, his hard, keen eyes piercing me through and through; never have i met a man with harder, keener, bolder eyes than monsieur de commines. then a softening pity broke across his face.

"mademoiselle de narbonne, what is de helville to you?" said he, but with a gentleness, a commiseration, that took the offence out of the blunt question.

"everything, for i love him," i replied, trying hard not to sob. "oh, monseigneur! cannot you see how this waiting tears my heart to pieces?"

"the king is implacable," he answered, "inexorable; there is no hope."

no hope! i could not speak, i could only put a hand to my throat and fight for breath.

"on monday jan meert was sent to poictiers——"

"oh, monseigneur, i know that; come to to-day."

"but," he persisted, "at least you cannot know that after nightfall yesterday monsieur de helville was arrested?"

"i saw it done, god help me, i saw it done."

"you, mademoiselle? but it was at poictiers!"

"at poictiers," i echoed. "and all night i rode to catch your ear first. but i failed, unhappy woman that i am, i failed."

"all night?" he said, throwing his arms up. "a girl like you? oh, poor child, poor child! we must try to save him yet."

"is there time? ah, monseigneur, believe me, the worst truth is the truest mercy. is there possible time?"

"till dawn on sunday," he answered, and for a minute we looked into one another's face in silence. what his thoughts were i do not know, but i struggled hard to count the hours that lay before the breaking of that dawn. but i could not; my brain was dumb of thought, and i could not. at last i caught at the one word—sunday! and over and over again i said it as they say birds repeat a word when taught to speak. sunday! sunday! sunday! and with as little understanding as they.

"the king fixed the day. all through he has taken a marvellous interest in this mission of de helville's. i trust, mademoiselle de narbonne, that you know i am ignorant of its purposes, entirely ignorant?"

"oh, monseigneur!" answered i, "what do you or i matter? or our ignorance or our knowledge either? tell me of—of—gaspard."

perhaps i spoke more sharply than was just, for his face hardened, and his keen eyes grew stormy. but only for an instant, and it is much to monsieur de commines' credit that he bore so temperately with the captiousness of a petulant girl.

"i say the king was marvellously interested in de helville's mission to navarre," he went on quietly. "i think he knew it was his last blow for france, and that it should succeed was very near his heart. as time passed without news from de helville he grew impatient, fretful, hotly passionate. for hours he would sit in the sunshine with not even his dogs near him, sit staring into vacancy while he mumbled his finger-tips like a dog a bone. then in a flash, and for no cause, a storm of rage would shake him to so violent a mood that not even coctier himself dared cross its course. crooking his fingers he shook them in the air, cursing whatever crossed his mind, his son charles, rochfort, navarre, de helville, the saints themselves, but chiefly navarre and de helville. at last, three weeks ago, he wrote again. what he said i do not know, though my seal closed the letter."

"i know," said i. "it was a truly kingly warning, and of a noble dignity. go on, monseigneur, if you please."

"then—i was absent in tours that day—there came a post from the south, and for the first time i saw the depths of the king's rage. mademoiselle, i am his servant and his friend, and i cannot speak of it. but the fierce mood was gone, and in its place there was an ice-cold, hungry, unemotional hate; an itching, craving lust for de helville's death, infinitely more hopeless than the outbursts of his boisterous anger."

"and yet he let the woman go free?"

monsieur de commines searched my face anxiously.

"you have heard of her?"

"from monsieur de helville, at morsigny. monsieur de helville had nothing to hide. how did your friend and master come to let the woman go?"

"that was francis of paulo's doing. louis would have—i do not know what he would have done. but the friar stood over him, just these two alone, and the king, falling back into one of his dour, silent moods, gave way."

"then there is hope yet!" i cried. "surely surely, he will move the king to mercy——"

but monseigneur, holding up his hand, waved away the hope.

"he has tried already, tried time and again, and failed. he even threatened to withhold absolution, and the king turned on him like a beast rather than a man. 'away with you! away! away!' he cried. 'your prayers were to prolong my life, and yet what am i? is this—miserable that i am!—is this all your prayer can wring out of the lord god? if you cannot save the lesser thing of the body, how can you damn the greater soul? curse, if you must curse, but this hellewyl dies.'"

"and yet," said i dully, "he moved the king to spare the woman."

"louis has his own code of law. by it de helville's return absolved the woman, and so in that case the monk prevailed. but no power can move him for de helville. i pled with him, knelt to him, almost wept; prayed that if ever he owed me anything for all my eleven years of labour to pay it now in this one man's life. his only answer was a scoff, and that as i had betrayed burgundy for pay eleven years ago, so now i would betray france. 'it was you,' he added, 'who put this milk-souled boor of a fleming into my head, and by god! i have a mind to hang you alongside him as a warning to all fools as well as rogues.' move him! not gabriel, not michael, not the whole hierarchy of heaven would move him. he cries it is but justice—justice, and de helville was arrested in poictiers last night."

"i know, i know, but what came next?"

"at daybreak this morning the express reached plessis, and by louis' orders the news was at once brought to him. i was with him at the time; all night i have never left him. but when i would have spoken he shook his finger at me, and laid his hand upon the collar with the cross of saint lo. 'dawn on sunday,' he whispered to lesellè. he is so weak, mademoiselle, pitiably weak in the flesh, but the will and the spirit are as strong as ever. 'dawn on sunday. that day the saints draw nearer to us, and i would not kill the soul with the body. hang him at dawn, lesellè.'"

"and this man is himself dying!" i cried.

"dying, mademoiselle?" said commines. "who said he was dying? i know that even in plessis there are those who waver, and would fly to charles if they dared; but—dying? no! no! it would be the ruin of france."

"oh, monseigneur! what do i care for the ruin of france? dawn on sunday! gaspard! gaspard! not two days! monsieur de commines, i must see the king."

"the king? you?" he answered brusquely. "no, no; how could you see him?"

"your king is not so great but suzanne de narbonne might be received."

"i know, mademoiselle, i know; but it is precisely because you are suzanne de narbonne. why destroy yourself? your very name is fatal."

"do you think, monsieur, that if i were afraid for myself i would have ridden from poictiers last night? he need not know my name."

"but i dare not risk it," and again he shook his head.

"risk what, monseigneur? risk me, yourself, or the king?"

"all three," he answered—"all three. you cannot understand."

"then what you dare not i will dare. in spite of you, monsieur de commines, i will force my way to the king, and if all three perish, they perish."

for a moment he stood and stared angrily at me, then, as once before, his face softened.

"oh, you poor child! there are six separate guards, and you could not pass the first of them."

"what! not with that?" and i held the signet up towards him.

"that?" he bent forward uncomprehendingly. but a single glance was enough, and as he understood, i saw him wince.

"the ring de helville carried away? i remember now. when the king asked for it i said i had given it to him that there might be no delay on his return. he was so eager for news that he held me excused."

"then you are beaten, monseigneur?"

"yes and no," he answered. "i will tell you the whole truth, mademoiselle. the king is too ill; this time i fear he is dying."

"and yet i shall see him. monsieur de helville is more to me than any king living or dying."

"mademoiselle, you force me to say more than is safe. alas! it is you who are beaten. you might as well cry to a log upon the bed. the king is unconscious. had that not been so, i could not have left him. the express from poictiers sapped his strength."

"the news of gaspard's arrest? that is the finger of god, monseigneur."

"perhaps so," he answered moodily. "but remember, mademoiselle de narbonne, in spite of all, he is my king and my friend."

there was a silence between us while i tried to tear a way out of the net that bound me, then, in desperation, i cried out—

"monsieur de commines, you are a subtle, supple courtier-politician, playing your own game through the hand of the king. is all this true?"

"true, god so judge me," he replied solemnly. "but, mademoiselle, i do not say there is no hope; i believe the stupor will pass. i promise you this, so soon as the king's brain is clear you shall see him. i owe de helville too much not to make the effort, and even though my debt was less, your courage and your love would compel me."

at the time i thought that my holding the king's signet had much to do with the compulsion, but i curbed my tongue. for the present i was helpless, and the future was in the hands of his good-will. therefore i only said—

"i hold your promise, monseigneur; on the faith of a christian gentleman?"

"you hold it, mademoiselle," answered he, earnestly; "and now, while i return to the king, you must eat, drink, and rest. oh! not for your own sake," he went on, as i shook my head in protest, "but for monsieur de helville's. if you are to move the king at all, you must have strength to command your every word and act, no matter under what provocation."

the sound sense of that was plain, though i could see that monseigneur spoke more out of a perfunctoriness and kindness of heart rather than any real expectation that i should have cause to put a tax upon my powers. so, while he was absent, blaise, his page, served me, and i made it my steadfast duty to force down bite and sup, resting on a couch as i ate. and, indeed, i was not only very weary, but in much pain, though more of spirit than body. think what the waiting in inaction was to me, and judge if each minute did not creep through my thought slowly, slowly, and yet searing as if it was red hot.