The benignity faded from the king's manner; his countenance, which "at no time would have made a man's fortune," became rancorous, caustic; the corners of his mouth appeared almost updrawn to his nostrils. He had little reason to care for the duke, and this interruption, so flagrant, menacing almost, did not tend to enhance his regard. In nowise daunted, the young man stood before him.
"I trust, Sire, your Majesty will reconsider your decision?"
With a strained look the young girl regarded them. To what new dangers had she summoned him? Was not she, the duke, even the emperor himself, in the power of the king, for the present at least? And knowing well Francis' headstrong passions, his violence when crossed, it was not strange at that moment her heart sank; she felt on the brink of an abyss; a nameless peril toward which she had drawn the companion of her flight. It seemed an endless interval before the monarch spoke.
"Ah, you heard!" remarked Francis at length, satirically.
"Inadvertently, Sire," answered the duke. His voice was steady, his face pale, but in his blue eyes a glint as of fire came and went. Self-assurance marked his bearing; dignity, pride. He looked not at the young girl, but calmly met the scrutiny of the king. The latter surveyed him from head to foot; then suddenly stared hard at a sword whose hilt gleamed even brighter than his own, and was fashioned in a form that recalled not imperfectly a hazard of other days.
He looked not at the young girl, but calmly
met the scrutiny of the king.
"Where did you get that blade?" he asked, abruptly.
"From the daughter of the Constable of Dubrois."