“A suggestion, sir, to offer you.”
The King crossed the chamber, and, leaning over Leoni’s shoulder, read out the words:
“To our well-beloved Cousin, Henry, King of England.
“Dear Cousin and King,—
“The bearer of this our letter, the noble Comte Reginald Herault de la Seine of Angomar and Villay, is our good friend. We ask you to receive him as such, and to permit him to see your Court, of which all the world speaks, and your kingdom of England, whose power is so beneficent and so mighty an agent of Heaven’s will on this earth.”
“Will it serve, sir?” asked Leoni.
“Of course!” cried the King; and snatching the pen from the doctor’s hand, he took the letter to the other side of the table and clumsily scribbled down a signature. “There,” he cried, tossing the letter back; “will that do?”
Leoni fixed him with his eyes and shrugged his shoulders slightly, and his peculiar cynical smile played about his lips.
“I wish, Leoni, you wouldn’t stare at me like that,” cried the King petulantly. “Yes. I know; it is bad—not like your regular writing. I don’t pass my time handling a pen.”