“I know nothing, Sire,” replied Hurst; “but I am troubled, in my grave anxiety for my master’s weal, as to the real motives of this Comte’s visit.”
“Hah!”
“And I doubt, Sire, as to his being the Comte de la Seine.”
“What!” cried the King. “Some impostor! Hurst! This is an insult to my guest, as noble and accomplished a gentleman as ever entered our Court—one whom I already look upon as my friend. Speak, man! What is it you think—that he is some cheat?”
“Cheat, Sire? No; but I believe him to be far higher in station than he says.”
“Hah! Higher? How could he be higher?”
“Some prince, Sire, of royal blood.”
“Bah!” cried the King contemptuously. “Fool! Dreamer! And at a time like this, when the horses are waiting and my guest doubtless ready, waiting till I join him! Always like this, Hurst, thinking out some wild diplomatic folly to cast like a stumbling-block in my way when I am upon pleasure bent. It is but little rest I get from cares of state, and you grudge me even that. Bah! I will hear no more.—Stop!” cried the King, after turning away. “See that there is a better banquet to-night, something more done to honour my French brother’s emissary; more music and dancing, too. There, that is enough.” And, hot and fuming, the King strode from the chamber, leaving his chamberlain standing alone, thoughtful and heavy.
Shortly afterwards there came through the open window the trampling of horses, eager voices, dominating all the loud, bluff, hearty voice of the King, followed by the sharper, rather metallic tones of the Comte, and then the merry laughter and ejaculations of the ladies who had joined the cavalcade. Then silence once again.
“Perhaps I am wrong,” said the chamberlain thoughtfully; “and too much zeal may prove my ruin, for mine is a dangerous post and I fear that I have gone too far. I don’t know, though. The suspicion seems to grow. We shall see, though; we shall see.”