"Ah," said I, "he is here."
The footman advanced a step towards me.
"My lord is busy."
"He will see me."
"I have the strictest orders, sir."
I pushed past the fellow and hammered at the door. It was thrown open from the inside, and Lord Bolingbroke stood anxiously in the door.
"Good morning," said I, airily. "It is a roundabout journey, this of yours to Dauphiné;" and while he stared and frowned at me I stepped past him into the room. In the window opposite there stood a man with his back towards me—a man of a slender and graceful figure, plainly dressed in a suit of black velvet. He turned hastily as I stumbled across the threshold, and in a twinkling I knew what I had done. There was no mistaking the long, melancholic features, the gentle aspect of long-suffering. His race was figured in the mould of his lineaments, and the sad history of his race was written in his eyes.
I dropped upon my knees.
"Your Majesty," I stammered out; and again, "your Majesty."
He took a step eagerly towards me. I felt the claret trickling down my legs.