“I regret it much,” was the reply, “but unless the King gives me such orders in contradiction of those which I have received, I cannot let you pass. Once more, gentlemen, it is impossible, and you must return. Did you hear me, M. Saint Simon? Ah, sir, you—” He said no more, for Saint Simon had passed onward, as if to go on in spite of all that had been said, but only to turn quickly and seize his arms from behind, while at the same moment his speech was cut short by Leoni’s hand—the subtle Franco-Italian having literally glided at him to clap a strongly smelling hand, moist with some pungent fluid, across his mouth.
The action seemed to the lad as instantaneous as its effect. He made a bold brave struggle, uttering a groaning half-stifled sound, and he vainly strove to free himself from the pinioning hands of Saint Simon; while, as if through a misty dream, he saw with starting eyes the dim figure of his master’s guest straight before him, and pointing a stiletto at his throat.
The next minute Saint Simon, in obedience to the whispered orders of Leoni, had raised the helpless lad in his arms.
“Is there to be no end to this black night’s work?” muttered Francis angrily. “I don’t know how it is. I don’t think I took too much of my brother Henry’s wine, for I wanted to dance; but my head is all confused and strange.”
“It was the heat of the room, perhaps, sir,” said Leoni.
“Perhaps so. The place was hot and stifling,” said Francis. “There are moments when my brain seems to whirl, and things go round. Did I go to sleep?”
“Yes, sir; you were certainly insensible to all that passed for a time.”
“Of course I was,” said the King angrily, “if I was asleep; but why don’t you say so? Here, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I must have dreamed that you took me by the wrist and led me along one of these dark galleries, to stop and lean against some great piece of furniture while something was going on. Then all was dark and strange again, and I seemed to be going for ever along dark passages, till I felt the fresh air coming in through an open window looking out upon the terrace. Well, come, Saint Simon; that was not dreaming.”
“No, sir,” said the young courtier drily.
“You were suffering from excitement, sir,” said Leoni quietly. “A touch of vertigo. You have been doing too much of late. But you feel better now?”