Or when the watchman cries, and we awake, and the monks are singing lauds at St. Germain, and—and the taper is low?”
Tavannes’ lip curled. “I don’t dream, sire,” he answered coldly, “and I seldom wake. For the rest, I fear my enemies neither alive nor dead.”
“Don’t you? By G-d, I wish I didn’t,” the young man exclaimed. His brow was wet with sweat. “I wish I didn’t. But there, it’s settled. They’ve settled it, and I would it were done! What do you think of—of it, man? What do you think of it, yourself?”
Count Hannibal’s face was inscrutable. “I think nothing, sire,” he said dryly. “It is for your Majesty and your council to think. It is enough for me that it is the King’s will.”
“But you’ll not flinch?” Charles muttered, with a quick look of suspicion. “But there,” with a monstrous oath, “I know you’ll not! I believe you’d as soon kill a monk—though, thank God,” and he crossed himself devoutly, “there is no question of that—as a man. And sooner than a maiden.”
“Much sooner, sire,” Tavannes answered grimly. “If you have any orders in the monkish direction—no? Then your Majesty must not talk to me longer. M. de Rochefoucauld is beginning to wonder what is keeping your Majesty from your game. And others are marking you, sire.”
“By the Lord!” Charles exclaimed, a ring of wonder mingled with horror in his tone, “if they knew what was in our minds they’d mark us more! Yet, see Nançay there beside the door? He is unmoved. He looks to-day as he looked yesterday. Yet he has charge of the work in the palace”
For the first time Tavannes allowed a movement of surprise to escape him.
