"Listen, Stephen." Commines had fuller command of himself now and spoke more quickly, but also with more assumption of authority. "Put yourself in the King's place and consider the truth dispassionately."
"Consider dispassionately how a father can best kill his own son; yes,
Uncle?"
But Commines took no umbrage at the crude sarcasm, a sarcasm aimed at himself and the King alike. He understood it as a sign that La Mothe's mind was recovering from the shock which had swung its balance awry. Five minutes earlier he would have declared that murder could never be dispassionate. That he would listen at all was something gained.
"The King is both more and less than father," Commines went on: "that is to say, his responsibilities are greater than those of a simple citizen, and his private rights in his son are less. He and the Dauphin do not belong to themselves. France comes first. Do you admit that France comes first?"
"God knows!" replied La Mothe moodily. The dying out of his first hot passionate protest had left him fretful and desperate. He remembered, too, something the King had said about France being the mother of them all, and at the time he had agreed; nor could he quite see where Commines' argument might lead. "There was a time when I thought right was eternally right, but now it seems a father may wipe out his fatherhood in blood and be justified."
"France comes first," went on Commines, emphasizing the point which he saw had weight. "The millions of lives in France come first. Could a son who plots against his father's life reign in France?"
"He is a child."
"In a year he will be old enough to reign: answer me, could such a son reign?"
"Are there not prisons?"
"You do not answer my question. I ask again, could such a son reign?"