Villon nodded gravely. Temperamentally he was the most emotional of the three, and the tragedy in little, which so nearly had been a tragedy in great, had so shaken his nerve that he controlled his tongue with difficulty.
"Yes," he said slowly, "that is why he is in Amboise, and he never knew it. There were two arrows on the string, Saxe and this. And it might have been me." He turned to La Mothe. "You saved me; but for you it would have been me."
But La Mothe gave him no answer. For the moment it seemed as if he had forgotten Villon's existence altogether. His arms were round the girl, one hand mechanically stroking her shoulder to quiet her fears, lover fashion, and comfort her with his nearness. But his thoughts were in Valmy, a thin, tired voice whispering in his ears, a white face whose eyes smouldered fire looking into his. With a shiver he roused himself.
"Yes, I came from Valmy, and I must go back to Valmy; I must go this very night. Saxe used to keep a horse always ready," he ended, with the bitterness of shame in his voice.
"Stephen, was it for this?"
"I suppose so. But I must go to Valmy to-night. As to the Dauphin, when I return——"
"When you return!" echoed Villon drearily. "Did Molembrais return? Saxe knew too much, and Saxe is dead. You will be the next, for you know more than Saxe ever guessed at."
"Saxe dead?" said Ursula, turning to Villon in her distress. "Monsieur
Villon, how did Saxe die?"
"Do not ask me, but persuade La Mothe to keep away from Valmy; let him go anywhere—anywhere, but not to Valmy. Remember Molembrais, and Monsieur La Mothe has not even a safe-conduct."
"Stephen, Stephen, for my sake! Oh, that terrible King!"