Leaving Anita where she stood, I pushed the door open and called aloud—
"Monsieur de Commines! Monsieur de Commines!"
"He is with the King," answered a voice from the floor above, and leisurely feet moved towards the stairs. "Who wants Monseigneur?"
"Gaspard de Helville," said I; "and oh! Monsieur, whoever you are; if you have any pity, will you make haste!"
"Gaspard de Helville!" The leisurely tread quickened to a run, and a well-grown page lad came flying downstairs almost at a leap. "De Helville? How can that be? De Helville is—Madame—Mademoiselle—"
"Monsieur de Commines? Bring me to him. Oh, Monsieur! can you not see the haste and trouble I am in?"
"But he is with the King."
"Then he must leave the King."
"But the King is ill, some say dying——"
"Other men die as well as kings, and are we all to go a-mourning because the King is ill? I must—do you hear?—I must see Monsieur de Commines." Then I tried a woman's wile upon him. Smoothing back my hair, so that he could see my face, the weary whiteness of it, and the great black hollows circling the eyes, I touched him timidly. "See, Monsieur, I have ridden all night from Poictiers to save Gaspard de Helville's life—I, a woman, and alone. I know there is a risk to you in this thing I ask——"