“Your Majesty is King,” said the chamberlain slowly and meaningly.
“Yes,” said the King, in a hoarse whisper; “and when I am moved to act my will is strong.”
There was silence for a few moments, and then Henry continued angrily:
“A ruse—a trick, put upon me for some strange scheming of his own, a gin, a trap to capture me, but for the setter to be caught himself. Francis, King of France!” he continued hoarsely; and then a peculiar smile, mocking, bitter, and almost savage, came upon his, lips as he gazed piercingly at his companion.
“No, Hurst,” he said meaningly, “I know no King of France. He would not dare to beard me in my own home like this. This man, this mock ambassador, this Comte de la Seine, is the only one with whom we have to do—an impostor who shall meet with the trickster’s fate.”
“But your Majesty—” said the chamberlain eagerly.
“My Majesty, Hurst, is going to work his own will, and as he will.”
“But, Sire, you will be just?”
“Yes, Hurst, as I always am. I grant that you may still be wrong, and we will clear this up.”
“Your Majesty is going to—”