But his mission? For the time it had failed. Saxe, as Stephen had said, had proved too much. He must make Saxe the scapegoat. The obvious lie damned him. It was crass stupidity to put into Hugues' mouth a lie which carried its own disproof with it. To force an accusation based upon the remainder of the story would be unpolitic. His best course would be to relieve the King of all his fears at Amboise. There was no plot, the Dauphin was loyal and obedient: not affectionate, that would be proving too much like the fool Saxe, and Louis would never believe it. Then there was the King's letter to Saxe. It must not be forgotten. That shrewd rascal, Villon, was right when he said some one had sounded Saxe, only the some one was not Hugues the valet. The letter must be ignored, or, better still, it might even help to make his—Commines'—position more secure than ever. It was Louis' habit to disavow his failures. He would, of course, repudiate Saxe and disavow the mission to Amboise, and because of the disavowal he would, openly at least, welcome the Dauphin's loyalty. That was Louis' way. Yes, Valmy was safest.
"I must leave Amboise at once," he said at last, and speaking as if the intention had always been in his mind. "If this misfortune has overtaken us all, which God forbid, we must meet it with courage and resignation. May He who alone is able comfort the bereaved son of so good and so great a father. My hope and prayer, mademoiselle, is that you are right and the King is making trial of our love and loyalty. In either case my place is at Valmy. La Mothe, order a horse to be saddled without delay."
"There is one ready in Saxe's stable," answered La Mothe. Then, lest he should be asked the unpleasant question how he came by that knowledge and for what purpose the horse was in readiness, he added hastily, "What shall we do with Saxe?"
"Keep Saxe safe until you hear from Valmy; let no one but Villon or yourself have speech with him. Such a liar would calumniate the King himself. Now, Stephen, the horses in ten minutes."
"Horses?" said La Mothe blankly. Was he also to leave Amboise now that a new dawn was breaking?
"Yes, tell two of my men to be ready. I do not trust Tristan, and will take no risks. An accident might happen to a lonely man on an all-night's ride."
"And yet," said the girl as La Mothe left the room, "you were ready to trust Tristan ten minutes ago?"
"But you have opened my eyes. Why? That is the one thing I cannot understand. We have always been opposed, always at enmity, and never more bitterly than to-night. Mademoiselle de Vesc, why did you not take your revenge and let me ruin myself?"
"I might give you a woman's reason and say, Because!" she answered, speaking more lightly than she had yet spoken; then as she paused a moment the pale face flushed, and the beginnings of a smile played about the mouth, only to die away in a tender gravity. "And yet, to tell the truth, it was a woman's reason: it was because there was once a friendless, helpless boy, and Philip de Commines—you were neither Argenton nor Talmont then, monsieur—opened his heart to him."
"But, mademoiselle, to be honest, that was for a woman's sake."