More than one of the Court ladies thought the gallant Comte strange in his manner, as they waited, fully expecting that he would come up and offer his hand to lead them through the next dance; but it soon became evident that nothing was farther from his intentions, and after looking on for a short time he slowly left the great apartment, and began to make his way towards his own rooms. “I don’t like it; I don’t like it,” he muttered. “It is vile and degrading. I feel as if only to think of it were lowering myself to the level of some cutpurse. I would I had never come. No,” he added sharply; “the time has passed too gaily for me to say that; and the good, bluff, hot-tempered, cheery Henri! I like the brave Englishman, and my faith, I have made him like me, traitor as I am.—No, it is not I. It is the spirit of that cunning, subtle Leoni, with his horrible fixed eye. I cannot tell why, but he masters me—King as I am. He turns me round his finger and forces me to obey even against my better feelings; for I think I have some. Can it be that he is more than man, that he possesses some strange power over one’s brain, as he does over the body when one is ill? Well, I’ll be master now. I will not do this thing. By my sword, is this cunning Italian to force his master to become a thief? No! He shall learn to-night that I’ll have none of it. Conceal who I am! Play the part of a masquerading spy! No! to-morrow I’ll tell my brother Harry the whole truth.”
He started violently as he came to this conclusion, for a dark figure suddenly glided from behind one of the statues in the long passage he was following. “You, Leoni?” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “M. le Comte! Yes, it is I. You have been long.”
“Long?” said Francis haughtily. “How—” He stopped short, for Leoni placed his lips close to his ear. “France is anxious, Sire, and the time has come.”
“The time!” said the King sharply. “Not for that?”
“Yes, M. le Comte, for that. I have been waiting for the fateful moment to arrive for the great opportunity, and it has come.”
“But,” cried Francis, “I have been thinking—my position here—my good friend the King. Leoni, all this must end; I cannot, I will not do this thing.”
“Sire!” whispered Leoni.
“No, no, man. It is the Comte de la Seine you speak to, and who tells you he will let you lead him no more through these devious ways. Who are you that you should dare to force me onward into such a crime?”
“Your servant, sir, but at the same time he to whom it is given to lead you aright towards making your country the greatest in the world.”
“Through crime?” said the King hotly.