There was no long delay. Passing Villon with a single, keen, scrutinizing glance, a man, a stranger to them all, entered, pausing a yard or two within the room. Four or five troopers showed behind him in the doorway, but made no attempt to cross the threshold. All were dusty, travel-stained, and with every sign of having ridden both far and fast. Their leader alone was bareheaded, his sheathed sword caught up in a gauntleted hand.

"In the King's name, Monseigneur," he said, turning to the Dauphin with a salute which halted evenly between respect and contempt. But the Dauphin only shrank closer to Ursula de Vesc and it was La Mothe who answered.

"You are from Valmy?"

"By order of the King."

"With despatches?"

"With instructions, and," he paused, motioning to the open doorway behind him, then added, "means to carry them out."

"What are your instructions?"

"To arrest Monsieur Stephen La Mothe——"

"Arrest Monsieur La Mothe? Why? On what ground—on what charge?" Sweeping the Dauphin aside Ursula de Vesc moved forward as she spoke. The instinct of protection had given way to something very like the instinct of attack: her love for the boy was satisfied with a passivity which could never content her love for the man.

"If I could tell you, I would," he replied courteously, "but I fear Monsieur La Mothe must ask the King that question himself. I know nothing beyond my instructions."

"Are your orders in writing?" It was Villon who spoke.

"Yes, but I do not recognize your right to see them."

"My right, then," said La Mothe, "since it is against me they are directed."

"Certainly; no doubt you can identify the writing."

"I can," answered Ursula, stretching out her hand for the paper which would have been Beaufoy's passport to promotion but for his unlucky appetite. But it was withheld in obvious hesitation.

"Remember, mademoiselle, that if it is destroyed, I still have the means behind me——"

"Oh, monsieur," she interrupted, striking at him with her tongue and finding a relief in the contempt, "it is easy to see you come from Valmy."

A sour smile crossed his face as the colour rose at the gibe, but he only shrugged his shoulders with a little outward gesture of the hands.

"Yes, we grow suspicious in Valmy. There are my instructions, mademoiselle; you will see they leave me no alternative."

"Yes, the writing is the King's throughout. 'Go to Amboise,'" she read, "'Arrest Monsieur Stephen La Mothe, and bring him to Valmy without delay. Tell him his orders are cancelled, and on your life let him hold no communication with the Dauphin.—LOUIS.'" With every sentence her voice hardened; spots of colour flecked the pallor of her cheeks, grew and deepened. "It is vile, infamous, contemptible," she said, "but it is like your King. Yes! You come from Valmy, there can be no doubt you come from Valmy. Stephen, I shall speak. Useless? Perhaps; but I shall speak all the same. Your King has hid spies in Amboise, we know that, spies who can lie or tell the truth as it suits their master. Through them the King knows that Monsieur La Mothe has twice saved the Dauphin at the risk of his own life, and now—now!" She paused, beating the paper with the back of her hand with a force that lent her words power and meaning, "now he is to hold no communication with the Dauphin! Monsieur La Mothe may set his own life on the hazard to save the Dauphin but he may not speak with him! That is Valmy gratitude and the King's miserable, jaundiced mind. And his commission is cancelled! What that commission is I do not know, but, thank God! Monsieur La Mothe, you are freed from it, whatever it is, since it came out of Valmy."

"I thank God too," said La Mothe, his eyes meeting hers a moment and travelling behind to where the Dauphin stood hugging the wall with Diane and Lui-mÊme at his feet. The significance of the glance was unmistakable, and the girl paused, breathless, in the revelation. The gifts were his commission, the mask which killed Charlot was his commission, and the commission was cancelled. The King had repented, had he not repented there would be no cancellation. "Yes," repeated La Mothe, "very humbly I thank God, nor do I think the King can have heard as yet of the Dauphin's second danger. Monsieur, I am at your service; I was about to leave for Valmy to-night in any case."

"So much the better; but I regret you must go as my prisoner. You can understand that I have no option."

"I quite understand, and here is my sword. Monseigneur—no, since you permit it, Charles, my friend, I leave you in good keeping. You will have Mademoiselle de Vesc, Father John, and Villon here, to watch over you. Villon, beware of that third cast of the net. I think that is now the one great danger."

"La Mothe, La Mothe, must you go? Is there no other way? Remember
Molembrais."

"What other way is possible? The King has my word, and if that were not enough there are what Monsieur de Commines would call five good reasons behind the door. Monsieur, you have my parole. Something stronger than your five reasons holds me. Good-bye, Charles, my friend——"

But somewhere in the boy's blood a dash of the Crusader's spirit he had sneered at stirred. Brushing past Ursula de Vesc he ranged himself by La Mothe's side, his coat-of-mail an undulating pool of light as when the moon shines on a falling wave pitted by the wind.

"Monsieur from Valmy, Mademoiselle de Vesc is right. You may tell my father that Monsieur La Mothe has twice saved my life and that all Amboise knows it. That he saved me may not count for much in Valmy—it may even be against him—but what all Amboise knows all France will know. I think my father will understand. Monsieur La Mothe, good-bye, and when you come back we shall play our games together again. I don't think I care about the mask, but I shall not forget to be Roland. Come, Father John, let us go and pray that Monsieur La Mothe will soon come back to us."

"Monseigneur—Charles!" cried La Mothe, taking the stretched-out hand in both his, "you are a gallant little gentleman. No; I do not think you will forget to be Roland. God save the Dauphin!"

"Thank you, Monsieur La Mothe. Monsieur from Valmy, you have my leave to go. Come, Father John." With a stiff little bow he hooked his arm into the brown sleeve of the Franciscan, and the two left the room.

"I think, monsieur," said Ursula de Vesc, "the Dauphin speaks the sentiments of us all. You have Monsieur La Mothe's parole: he will follow you in five minutes."

But how spirit drew to spirit as lip to lip in these five minutes needs not to be told. Whoso has seen love go out of life, uncertain of return, will understand. But if that morning there had been a passing behind the veil into the holy of holies where immortal love dwelleth, then in these five minutes there was the very throbbing of the heart which beats eternal even in these earthly walls of time.

Nor was Villon drier of eye as he waited under the stars.

"He knows too much," he said; "and when a man knows too much, not even a ballad can save him."