“Yes, sir—” began Leoni.
“Say Sire, man! I have done with this masquerading folly. Speak out plainly. That mummery is at an end. Why are we in this boat?”
“Escaping from King Henry’s vengeance, Sire.”
“Hah!” cried the King. “I do not understand. Yes, I remember now. It all comes back. There was some question of that—oh yes, I remember—the fit of madness. But was I not wounded?”
“Yes, Sire; but your injury is healing fast.”
“To be sure. I feel better, after long weeks of horrid dreams. Well, that is all over. It was while escaping. But tell me—I am growing confused again—what mean you? That we are escaping now?”
“Yes, Sire; soon to be in safety and on your way to your own great land.”
“Ah!” cried the King, in a tone full of satisfaction. “That is good. I would that I had never left it upon this quest. But how dark it is getting!”
“Yes, Sire; but it will soon be lighter,” said Leoni quietly.
“Make it lighter in my dark brain, man, if you have it in your power,” cried the King impetuously; “for one moment I see clearly; the next, I am confused again. Yes—that is what I wanted to think of. Is Saint Simon there? But where is my young esquire? On your life, man, don’t tell me he is dead!—Hah! Is that the truth?”