“I thought you were playing a very dangerous game.”
Chapter Twenty Three.
A Royal welcome.
There was plenty of colour and brightness in the group awaiting the coming of Francis and his travel-stained followers. Courtiers stood around with their gay, picturesque garments rendered more striking by the sunset glow, vivified by passing through a stained-glass window which shone down upon the central figure of the group, a big, bluff, rather heavy-faced, typically English yeoman in expression, upon whom Francis fixed his eyes and kept them there as upon the principal picture, all the rest being merely frame.
Irrespective of his position, the visitor would have known him at once from the descriptions he had heard from ambassadors to the English Court of what the English King was like; and forgetful of everything else, all courtly custom, his secret mission, and his assumed character, Francis made a slight obeisance and stepped forward eagerly to greet his brother King.
On the other hand King Henry gazed curiously at his visitor who bore such worthy credentials, and he put out his hand as he stood drawing himself up proudly, expecting to see the Comte sink upon one knee and press it to his lips; but, to his utter astonishment, Francis came close up, apparently not in the slightest degree dazzled or abashed by his magnificence, to stop short when within easy reach, and, instead of sinking down, exclaimed, “Aha! The brave, soldierly King Hal!” clapped both hands upon his brother monarch’s shoulders, let them glide quickly onward till they joined behind the King’s neck, and the next moment the embrace tightened as he kissed the plump cheeks that were beginning to flame smartly in turn.
“This,” he cried, “is a great joy that pays me for my long journey here.”
The English King drew back in astonishment, and glanced quickly to right and left of his assembled courtiers, as if asking the meaning of this outrage, this strange conduct so completely in opposition to all Court etiquette.