“Now then,” said Saint Simon, “shall we tie up the horses here again?”
“No,” cried Denis sharply. “Look—through the door yonder. There’s the Comte!”
Chapter Twelve.
A well-meant warning.
Saint Simon glanced in the direction indicated, to see across the yard the King standing at the open doorway, talking, and evidently questioning their hostess, who was pointing towards the stable where the young men were.
“Now for a storm, Denis, boy, with plenty of royal thunder, and flashes of lightning from his kingly eyes. Bah! How hard it is to forget his rank! How are you now?”
“Oh, better. The sight of—the Comte seems to string me up.”
“Come on, then, to make our excuses for the breach of duty, and take our three witnesses to back our words.”