“Silence, boy!” cried the King, laying his hand on Denis’s head as he dumbly looked up at him in protest, his eyes appealing the while that his monarch’s favour should be awarded to him alone. “No, no; emphatically no! Neither of you will go alone. You hear, boys? I will not send you on this quest.”
Francis turned to Leoni as he spoke, and the doctor bowed his head in acquiescence.
“Yours are the words of wisdom, Sire,” he said. “The work is not for such as these—these two gallant followers of their King.”
“Who then is to follow out the task?” said Francis. “For I like it well, and it must and shall be done. You hear me, Leoni? I have spoken now, and I will not rest, since you have roused me to this task, until this jewel glistens once more in its rightful place above my kingly crown.”
“Spoken like the King of France!” cried the doctor, drawing himself up. “And now, Sire, it will be done.”
“By whom?” cried Francis sternly.
“By your servant, Sire, who has dwelt upon this for years, thought out and nurtured the plans until the fruit is ripe. By the man who possesses the energy, the guile, and the determination to serve his master in this great duty to his King.”
“And who is that man?” cried Francis, rising to his feet and standing proudly before his three courtiers kneeling before him; for as he uttered his next words Leoni sank in turn upon one knee and bent his head, to say in a low deep tone, almost a whisper, but which seemed to fill the silence of the place:
“I, Sire—your faithful servant. I am that man.”
The silence for the next few moments was profound, while a cloud that had eclipsed the sun for some time past floated slowly from before the glowing orb, which poured its full beams through the gorgeous panes of the stained-glass windows of the chamber, and flooded the standing monarch with its glowing light as he made reply. His words were quick, sharp, and decisive, and fell upon the listeners like a thunderbolt, stunning them for a moment with the astonishment they felt; but they were only these: