"I have heard of you," said La Mothe, pulling the soft ears gently. "You sleep in the Dauphin's room o' nights as Hugues does at the door, and now and then you lay your head on her knee, while she strokes and pets you, lucky dog that you are. Why was I not born a dog, tell me that?"
At the sound of his voice the puppies ceased their play, sat up panting a moment, and then in a tumultuous bunch rushed upon La Mothe. Charlemagne vouched for him, Charlemagne who was their oracle as grown-up brothers so often are, and they could let loose the exuberance of their puppydom without a fear that a sudden cuff would teach their youth that wild delights find an end in sorrow. Over each other they sprawled in their heedless eagerness to get near to this new playfellow, one, a little weaker than the rest, lagging a half-tail's length behind, and La Mothe was so busy trying to find a hand for each to mumble that he never knew how long Ursula de Vesc stood watching him.
Nor was she in any haste to break the silence. A puzzling factor had come into her life, and she was impatient of the enigma. The solution was not a question of curiosity but of safety, and a safety not her own. On one side was Commines, Louis' devoted adherent, devoted not alone in service, but in blindness, the blindness which questions neither means nor purpose; on the other side was Villon, Louis' jackal and open ears in Amboise. Between these two so profoundly distrusted stood Stephen La Mothe. Between them, but was he of them? That was the problem.
That morning, from Hugues' report of the visit in the darkened quiet of the Château, and remembering how familiarly Villon had introduced La Mothe overnight, she had had no doubt, and the cautious secrecy of the rendezvous with Commines argued some sinister threat. But now she doubted, and as she watched La Mothe's careless play with the dogs the doubt grew. Hugues had kept his eyes open: the gapped bank and the narrow strip of grass between the bay and the river into which the grey horse had been thrust, without a hesitating thought of the inevitable result which must follow a slip or a swerve, spoke not alone of personal courage, but said plainly that La Mothe was ready to risk his life for the Dauphin. Neither Commines nor Villon would have done that, they would have let him perish and raised no hand to save him.
Where, then, was the sinister threat? And had not the devotion which she had so contemptuously scoffed at the night before already proved itself to be no empty word? Yes, she had scoffed, and he had answered her scoff at the risk of his life. How, then, could he be one with Commines and Villon? The thought that she had so misjudged him flushed her as with a sudden heat, the grey eyes grew tenderly troubled in her self-reproach, and unconsciously she drew a deeper breath. Slight as the sound was the dogs heard it; round they spun from their play, their mouths open, their tongues hanging, and next moment were leaping upon her skirts with little yelps of greeting.
"Mademoiselle!" and La Mothe sprang to his feet. "I did not hear you coming: how could I have been so deaf?" It was on his tongue to add, "I, who have been listening for the sound of your feet these hours past," but he wisely checked himself in time.
"Are you going to win all Amboise in a single day?" she answered, stooping so that the jubilant puppies almost scrambled into her lap. "You do not ask after the Dauphin?"
"I fear I had forgotten him," he replied, and though there was no intentional significance in his voice Ursula de Vesc was woman enough to understand the subtle compliment. "How is he?"
"If you forget, we do not. He is as well as a nervous boy can be after such an ordeal. He is looking forward to seeing you this afternoon to try to say to you what we all feel. Monsieur La Mothe, let me——"
"Nervous he may be, but he is no coward," interrupted La Mothe hastily. He foresaw what was coming and had all a shy man's horror of being thanked. "He sat his horse like a little hero. There is no such courage as to wait quietly for death."