Francis laughed lightly.
“The best swordsman,” he said, “in all my fair kingdom of France—cut, parry, and point; the greatest savant; and, by my sword, the best of patrists.—No, no, Leoni, old friend, I am not too indulgent,” and he gave his follower a keen glance. “But as to the route; is it good to start to-morrow?”
Leoni bowed.
“Yes, sir, it is good,” he said, and he blew some few grains of sand off the paper at which he had been engaged.
“Ah!” said the King. “’Tis well.”
“And then, sir—”
“Then—I do not understand.”
Leoni leaned forward, and with his elbows on the table joined the tips of his fingers, and then clasped his hands and, with the weird strange look in his eyes, said:
“What does my lord propose to do?”
“To do? Why, to go to the Court of our quick-tempered brother Henry at this palace of his at Windsor.”