“His Majesty coming back,” he muttered, for quick steps were heard approaching, and a few moments later he stepped quickly out to bar the way as he did a short time before, and with a feeling upon him that he would show his master how well he was on the alert.
He challenged, fully believing that it was Henry and the chamberlain, and started violently on finding out his mistake, for it was Francis, who cried angrily:
“Who are you?”
“Carrbroke, M. le Comte. This is the way to his Majesty’s private apartments. You cannot pass here.”
In an instant Leoni had glided alongside, to lay his hand softly on the youth’s arm.
“My dear young friend,” he said, “you do not recognise who it is speaking. It is the King’s friend, the Comte de la Seine. The ballroom was hot, and these corridors calm, cool, and refreshing. The Comte is only going round this way to reach his apartment. We can reach it down this passage, can we not?”
“No, sir,” said Carrbroke quietly. “I am sorry to have to turn you back, but you must seek some other way. I am on guard here, and it is his Majesty’s commands that no one shall pass this private corridor by night—and no wonder,” thought the lad, as he recalled his discovery of the private doorway not far from where they stood.
Francis uttered an impatient growl.
“Tell him,” he said angrily in French, to Leoni—“tell him I object to being treated like a prisoner”—words which Leoni translated, in the belief that they were not understood.
“The Comte de la Seine says, Monsieur Carrbroke, that surely his Majesty would make an exception in favour of his friend.”