Uncomprehending, but terror-shaken at the sudden outburst which filled Louis' frail body with passion, Commines hastened to the door. He thought he had sounded all his master's shifting moods, but this agony of a fear not for himself, this pathos of horror, was new to him. Dimly he understood that the antagonism to the Dauphin had broken down finally and for ever. La Mothe was right, it had not been so hard to draw the father to the son. But why call for Beaufoy? Why such anxiety of haste? Why that scream of fear in the voice? Beyond the door stood Beaufoy, perplexed and startled.
"The King—go to him."
"Ill? Dying?"
"No, he needs you. Go at once—at once," answered Commines, with a jerk of his head, and was gone.
"You called me, Sire?"
"Pen—ink—paper. There, on the table. Quicker, dolt, quicker!"
But with the quill between his fingers and the paper flattened on a pad against his knee, Louis was in no haste to write. Gnawing with unconscious savagery at his under-lip he stared into vacancy, searching, searching, searching for the precise words to express his thought. But they eluded him. It was not so simple to be precise, so clear that even a fool like Beaufoy could not make a mistake, and yet be so cautious that the true purpose, the inner meaning of the order, would not betray him. Commines' voice was clanging in his ears like the clapper of a bell, and would not let him think coherently. Twelve hours! Twelve hours! Even now—no, not yet, but soon, very soon, it might be too late. "Perdition!" he cried, striking his hand upon the woollen coverlid—he was chilly even in May—"will they never come?"
And at last they came, not what satisfied him, but what perforce must suffice, and with a hand marvellously steady under the compulsion of the iron will he dashed off two or three sentences at white heat, added his signature in the bold, angular characters which had so often vouched a lie as the truth, and flung the paper across to Beaufoy.
"There! obey that, neither more nor less. Your horse is waiting you in the courtyard. Read your orders as you go, but let no man see them, not even Argenton. The moment they are executed return to Valmy."
"Go where, Sire?"