The intruder needed not to do so much in order to reveal his identity; for the words had not left the king's lips before a glare of light lit up the whole apartment, and revealed the face of Lawrence Lee. An exclamation of anger broke from Charles; and he darted a look of mingled suspicion and defiance on Lee.
"Ha! I thought as much, Master Talebearer," he cried; "and this is your vaunted loyalty—this is—"
"Fire! fire! your majesty," and Lee rushed forward with outspread arms. "Come quick! for God's sake, come! afterwards hang me—kill me—do as you will. But now—now—the palace is on fire, I say! and there's not an instant to lose."
Madness indeed.
"Fire?" cried the king, casting a rapid glance upward at the dazzling glare lighting up every object in the room, and hurrying towards the curtained entrance, only to stagger backward into Lee's arms, overcome with the smoke and flame bursting from the heavy drapery as he lifted it.
"No, no! great heavens! not that way!" shouted Lee. "Already the corridors have caught, and communication will be cut off. Come for your life;" and he dragged the half-breathless king across the room. "Here, by the private staircase!"
"What private staircase?" demanded Charles, reeling forward after Lee, with his hand to his month. "I tell thee, man," he went on, in tones of anger as well as of fear, "there is no private stair—"
"Come! come!" shouted his deliverer with a laugh of triumph which rang through the burning room, and he seized the king round the waist with both arms; "we are safe enough this way—as yet."
"The dog! the dog!" cried the king, struggling in Lee's embrace, and pointing towards poor Médor, whose piteous yelpings resounded from the couch.