Jean Charost raised a light from the table and opened the door, then followed along the dark passages till they reached a small hall upon the ground-floor, which the queen entered without waiting for announcement or permission. Her light step roused no one within from his occupation, and the whole scene was before her eyes ere any one engaged in it was aware of her presence. She might, perhaps, have seen another, less tranquil to look upon. At a table under a sconce, in one corner of the room, sat a young man reading the contents of a book richly illuminated. His cap and plume were thrown down by his side, his sword was cast upon a bench near, and his head was bent over the volume, with his eyes eagerly fixed upon the page, deciphering, probably with difficulty, the words which it presented. In another corner of the room, far removed from the light, and with his shoulders supported by the angle of the building, sat Tanneguy du Châtel, sound asleep, but with his heavy sword resting on his knees, and his left hand lying upon the scabbard. Nearer to the windows--some seven paces probably in advance--stood a boy dressed as a page, looking at what was going on at a table before him, but not venturing to approach too near. At that table, with a large candelabra in the centre, sat a young gentleman of powerful frame, though still a mere lad, with a slight mustache on the upper lip, and his strong black hair curling round his forehead and temples. On the opposite side of the table, nearest to the page, was Charles the Seventh himself. He was the only one in the room who wore his cap and plume, and to the eyes of Jean Charost--whether from prepossession or not, I can not tell--there seemed an air of dignity and grace about his youthful figure which well befitted the monarch. The thoughts of France, however, were evidently far away, and his whole attention seemed directed to the narrow board before him, on which he was playing at chess with his cousin, the after-celebrated Dunois.
Still the step of the queen and her companions did not rouse him: his whole soul seemed in the move he was about to make, and it was not till they were close by that he even looked round.
Even then he did not speak, but turned his eyes upon the game again, and in the end moved his knight so as to protect the king.
"That is a good move," said his wife, taking a step forward; "but some such move must be made speedily, my lord, upon a wider board." Then, bending her knee, she added, "God save his majesty, King Charles the Seventh!"
Charles started up, nearly overturning the board, and deranging all the pieces. "What is it, Marie?" he asked, looking almost aghast; but Agnes Sorel and Jean Charost knelt at the same time, saying, "God save your majesty! He has done his will with your late father."
Up started Dunois, and waved his hand in the air, exclaiming, "God save the king!" and the other three in the chamber pressed around, repeating the same cry.
Charles stood in the midst, gazing gravely on the different faces about him, then slowly drew his sword from the scabbard, and laid it on the table, saying, in a calm, thoughtful, resolute tone, "Once more!"
CHAPTER XL.
How the news spread through the castle, I know not; but Charles VII. had hardly recovered from the first surprise of the intelligence when, without waiting for permission or ceremony, all whose station justified their admission to the presence of the prince crowded into the little hall of Espaly. A bright and beautiful sight it presented at that moment; for it was a court of youth and beauty, and not more than two or three persons present had seen thirty years of age. Hope and enthusiasm was in every countenance, and the heavy beams of the vault rang with the cries of "Long live the king."
The bearer of the intelligence which had caused the acclamation seemed likely to be altogether forgotten by the monarch in the gratulations which poured upon him; but some bold, frank words of the young and heroic lord of La Hire gave to generous Agnes Sorel an opportunity of calling the attention of Charles to Jean Charost.