Denis’s hand went to his sword.
“We will fight to the last,” he said, “and die.”
“Boy!” exclaimed Leoni contemptuously. “Fight and die! Better act with craft and live. What! Would you fight an army? Bah! It is not by that means that we can save his Majesty from this perilous pass.”
“Then how?” asked Denis. “Order me to do anything and I will obey.”
“I know,” said Leoni thoughtfully; “I know.” And he took a pace or two up and down the apartment with his eyes fixed on the floor, while the two young men watched him narrowly, seeming to be endeavouring to read his innermost thoughts, the ideas which surged within.
“There is but one thing to be done,” said Leoni at last gravely. “Francis is ill and closely guarded, and his life is doubly in danger, for Henry’s intentions are lad.” And as he spoke he looked hard at Denis, who said not a word.
“And what is that one thing?” asked Saint Simon.
Leoni thought a minute or two before replying.
“It is this,” he said at length quietly. “We his followers are free to go where we list, and Francis must be saved. I, alas, can be nothing in my plan; but you,” he went on, looking direct at Saint Simon, “or Denis, might save the King.”
“How?” exclaimed Denis again, as he firmly met the speaker’s peculiar gaze.