"History, your Majesty, shall give them to posterity," answered the duke.
"Even those we lost to Charles?" muttered the king, a shadow passing over his countenance.
"Glory, Sire, is a mistress sometimes fickle in her favors."
"And yet we live but for—" He broke off abruptly, and with the eye of a trained commander surveyed the duke's men. "Daredevils; daredevils, all!" he muttered.
"Rough-looking fellows, Sire!" apologized the duke, "but tried and faithful soldiers. Somewhat dusty and road-worn." And his eyes turned meaningly to the king's suite; the flashing girdles of silver, the shining hilts, the gorgeous cloaks and even the adornment of ribbons.
"Nay," said Francis meditatively, "on a rough journey I would fain have these fire-eaters at my back. They look as though they could cut and hew."
"Moderately well, your Majesty," answered the duke with modesty.
"Will you mount, noble sir, and ride with me? Yonder is the castle, and in the castle is a certain fair lady whom you, no doubt, fain would see."
Long gazed the Duke of Friedwald at the distant venerable pile of stone; the majestic turrets and towers softly floating in a dreamy mist; the setting, fresh, woody, green. Long he looked at this inviting picture and then breathed deeply.
"Ah, Sire, I would the meeting were over," he remarked in a low voice.