“I owed him a life,” he replied stolidly, “and I do not forget my debts.”
Remembering M. de Lambert’s relief and mine to be rid of him on that night, I smiled.
“You are an honest fellow; accept our thanks,” I said, drawing out my purse.
He started back with an expression of resentment.
“Not that, your Excellency,” he said proudly; “my life was worth more to me than French gold. I did but discharge my just debts. Keep your money for those who seek it; I am a free-born Swede and have saved a life. That requires no thanks.”
I looked at him with growing interest. This was no common spy, or if the lower classes were of such noble stuff, how worthy must be the higher orders! King Charles was fortunate. I rose and held out my hand.
“You must accept, at least, my thanks,” I said.
As I spoke, I saw my wife coming forward. She had entered the room unobserved, and overheard the conversation. Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes kindled with a look they had when she was deeply stirred. She came across to the Swede, and drew a ring from her finger.
“Accept this, my friend,” she said in her gracious way, “for your sweetheart, as a gift of recognition for a gallant service to a Frenchman.”
The Swede, looking at her fine and animated face, took the ring and made her a profound obeisance.