"Dieu merci! but I am thankful you have come," he said, but speaking softly so that no sounds passed through the curtained door at his back. "Four times within the hour the King has sent asking for you. It is like the cry of one of his own parrots, 'Commines! Where is Commines?'"
"Who have seen him this morning?"
"His two janitors of the eternal, if it be no sin to say so—the priest and Tristan. Fortune keep their last ministrations far from me!"
"Then the King is awake?" said Commines, unbuckling his sword-belt and handing it to Beaufoy.
"Awake, but in bed as a good Christian ought to be at this time of day. Faith! Monsieur d'Argenton, you are in fortune's pocket; four times within the hour he has asked for you—four times, as I'm a starving sinner without a hope of breakfast."
"The better appetite later!" Letting the curtains fall behind him Commines pushed the door open softly, closed it softly at his back, and advanced a step. But in spite of the caution of his quiet Louis heard him.
"What's that? Who's there? Beaufoy—Beaufoy——"
"Sire, it is I—Commines."
"Commines!" he repeated, the sharpness of his frightened voice dwindling breathlessly. "Commines, Philip, what—what news from Amboise?"
"The very best, Sire."