Leaning on Monseigneur, Louis limped towards the oratory, dragging one foot rasping on the floor as he walked.
"It can do no harm," I heard him mutter. "It is always well to keep heaven on our side, eh, d'Argenton?"
"Yes, Sire, but is it wise that the priest should over-hear——?"
"Tut, tut; he never leaves Plessis. Besides, a priest has a neck between his frock and his shaven crown as well as another man."
"But, Sire, his office?"
Louis paused, looking round, so that I saw the profile of his wrinkled forehead and thin nose white against the gloom of the shrine.
"I am faithful to the Church, d'Argenton, no man more so, but, by God! the Church had better be faithful to me, for there's no benefit of clergy to traitors! We desire your prayers, dear father," he went on loudly, "to the end that an enterprise of peace may have the blessing of Saint Eutropius upon it. Only, no Latin, pray in honest French so that I, as well as the good Saint, may understand what you say." Down on his knees he went by the rail, Monseigneur on a faltstool behind him, while I, apparently forgotten, knelt in turn on the bare floor. "To the point, and not too long," said Louis. "Like myself, he is busy in good works, and we must not waste his time."
Out from the deeper shadow at the side of the altar a black-frocked figure stole into view.
"Then you do not desire a special office, Sire?" said a soft voice.
Louis raised his head.