"Let him tell his story his own way," said Commines, "or you will confuse him."
"As you will, but Hugues is dead and cannot defend himself," and the defiance passed as, with a sigh, the girl sank wearily into her chair, felt La Mothe's hand where it rested upon the back, and leaned hastily forward, then settled slowly into her place again. As for Stephen La Mothe, the beating of his heart quickened, but he stood unmoved. The touch comforted them both.
"Hugues came two days ago——"
"That was the second time. When did he come first?"
"Three weeks ago, monseigneur."
"Are you sure?"
"It was a week before your lordship came to Amboise. I remember it perfectly because——"
"Never mind why; that you remember and are sure of the day is enough. I want you to be exact. It was a week before Monsieur La Mothe and I arrived?"
"Yes, monseigneur." Saxe had thrown off his nervousness. He no longer shuffled his feet but stood breast square to the world. Commines' questions had loosened the thread of his story, and he was ready to run it off the reel without a tangle. "He said the King was very sick in Valmy, so sick and full of suffering that every hour of life was an hour of misery. It would be pure happiness, said he, pure charity and a blessing if such a life were ended. He was sure the King himself had no wish to live."
"That," said Ursula de Vesc, her eyes fixed on vacancy, "is so very like what we all know of His Majesty."