One morning Lord Hurst was in attendance upon Henry, making his customary daily reports and taking his orders for various preparations to carry out something fresh in the way of entertainment, when the King waved his hand impatiently.
“There, there,” he cried, “no more of this!” Then, good-humouredly, “Well, Hurst, what do you think of our ambassador?”
“Think of him, Sire?” replied the courtier.
“Yes, yes,” cried the King testily. “Do I not speak plainly? Why do you look at me like that? Do you not think he is a most worthy representative of his master?”
“Undoubtedly, Sire, but—”
“Hurst,” cried the King furiously, “have I not made you my trusted adviser?”
“Yes, Sire, and I am your faithful servant, always ready to advise.”
“Then why do you not speak out? I know you of old. You are keeping something back. What does this mean? Have you some suspicion about this man? Hah! I have it! You believe him to be a spy sent by Francis to learn all he can about my Court—about my realm! Man, man, you do not believe that this French King is plotting something to rob me farther of the possessions gained by my ancestors in the past?”
“No, Sire, no; but I am troubled in my mind,” said Hurst, speaking in a low anxious tone.
“Out with it, then! What is your suspicion? What is it you know?”