“With your permission, sir; you are a King, and those who are chosen by Heaven to reign cannot assume the guise of other men.”
“But my disguise, Leoni—my disguise!”
“Has been admirable, sir.”
“Then trust me for the future,” was the reply.
And as the door closed and a puff of air caused the lights on the table to dance, the King leaned back in his chair and just then caught his own reflection in a tall glass at the further end of the chamber.
“Ah,” he mused, “Leoni doubts of my address. Let him be quite assured. And this Henry who has ambitions on my land of France! Shortly I shall meet him, and my strength will be greater than his since I shall know who he is, and he—he will be ignorant as to who I am.
“Never in France
Shall England reign!”
he hummed.
“To-morrow I shall meet him, and then that stone—for Leoni must be right—that jewel will be mine, and the last link which binds us to the old invasion will be snapped.”
The King rose and took a turn up and down the apartment.