"No, I never heard that." He stood a minute, gnawing his lip, then wrenched the buckle open. What matter, he had his dagger hidden!
Laying the weapon aside, Leslie softly lifted the portière, holding it looped with one hand while with the other he opened the door very gently.
"Sire!"
"Is that Leslie? I am awake."
"There are messengers from Amboise. Your Majesty's signet——"
"Thank God! Oh, thank God! Lord God! Mother of God! Christ of God! grant he was in time." The voice was thin and tremulous, the end almost a sob. "Turn up the lamp, Leslie, and leave them with me alone. Mercy of God! strengthen me for what is to come."
Dropping the portière behind him, Leslie crossed the room with a quietness rare in one so roughly natured and so strongly built. But Louis had the power of winning men's affections when it so pleased him, and it was politic to win the man who held his life in care. Loosening the wick in its socket with the silver pin hanging from the lamp for that purpose, Leslie returned to the door.
"Are you ready, Sire?"
An affirmative wave of the hand was the answer, as, high upon his pillows and pushed to the very outer edge of the bed, the King leaned forward. Was he ready? He dared not say so. Words do not come easily when life or death waits uncertain behind the door.
"Have you slept, Sire?"