Chapter Twenty Seven.
The Chamberlain has suspicions.
Several days passed at the Court in a succession of gaieties including hunting, an excursion on the river, and at night banquet and dance. Henry was charmed with the pleasant sprightliness of his guest, whose lively French manner attracted him more and more. He distinguished himself in the field and in the chivalrous sports in the Castle Yard.
There were moments when the King looked grim and slightly disposed to be jealous of the applause given to the Comte, and more than once Lord Hurst saw his master frown heavily upon seeing how great a favourite Francis had made himself with the courtiers, who were delighted with the change the gay Frenchman made in the monotony of their daily life. But Leoni felt that the luxurious seats he occupied at Windsor were stuffed with thorns, and that they were placed close to the edge of a mine that might at any moment explode.
Still the time wore on and the danger seemed as far off as ever, for in obedience to Leoni’s prompting Francis, though often sailing very near the wind, dexterously gave a turn to the rudder just at the right time, and the doctor breathed freely once again, while he waited for the moment when he could put into action one or other of the plans he had thought out, to get possession of the fateful jewel whose resting-place he felt he knew, lying as it did, though still distant, almost within his grasp. For short of gaining entrance to the private corridor where it lay, and boldly breaking open the cabinet some night, to carry off the prize, he could not yet see his way.
“That must be the last resource,” he said to Denis. “The Comte and I must exercise subtlety. The knowledge came from you, boy—given to you by fate; and we must wait longer, even if it be for days. Who knows but, as she has favoured us so far, fate may place in our hands the fruit that is ripe to pluck?”
“I wish they’d pluck it or leave it alone,” said Denis to himself. “I hate the whole business. It is very pleasant being here, and Carrbroke makes himself quite like a brother, though I can’t help laughing at him sometimes when he speaks such bad French; but that doesn’t matter. He laughs at my bad English just the same, and it’s all capital sport when we are together, if I didn’t feel so treacherous. There are times when I should like to tell him all, and why we are here; but I can’t, for that would be behaving treacherously to my King.”
The lad ended his musings rather gloomily, as he felt sure that before long they would be found out and the daring business be all come to an end.
Similar thoughts kept Leoni awake the greater part of each night in his luxurious chamber, spoiling his rest, and making him attend his master the next morning terribly troubled in mind, but only to brighten up on finding how well in favour the Comte seemed with the King, who was always seeking his visitor out for some new pursuit in courtly pleasure or excursion.
But the cloud was gathering all the same, and the discovery very near at hand.