"Stephen, Stephen, what madness is this?"
Propped on his arm La Mothe pointed to Molembrais.
"Molembrais!" he panted. "Twice—the Dauphin—now the King. Thank God
I knew him at the last."
By the bedside the Franciscan stooped lower, whispering in the King's ear—whispering urgently, insistently, pleadingly. What he said none heard, but the hard face slowly softened.
"Philip, let him rise; you did well to vouch for Monsieur La Mothe. And you, young sir, who have learned when to speak and when to keep silence, was I not right? Amboise was dull, and queen and waiting-maid are all of the one flesh? Mademoiselle, take him back to Amboise with you and watch together over my son, the Dauphin, and the God of Mercy be gracious to you both as He has been to me this day."
He paused a moment. Shifting on his elbow he laid an arm round the
Franciscan's neck, drawing him closer, and as he whispered to the
priest a laugh wrinkled his worn face. Father John nodded, smiling.
The King's arm slipped from him and he straightened himself.
"You are right, Sire, it is their due. Mademoiselle, come nearer. Who giveth this woman to this man?"
"I do," answered Louis.
Seven years after the boy Charles succeeded to the throne a certain Stephen de Vesc, chamberlain to the King, was appointed, first, Seneschal of Beaucaire, then Governor of Gaeta, and finally Constable of France. Could it be that Stephen La Mothe adopted his wife's name to please the Dauphin? Such changes are not unknown in our day, and for less cause.