Count Hannibal

"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 Nancay 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.

"In the palace?" he muttered. "Is it to be done here, too, sire?"

"Would you let some escape, to return by-and-by and cut our throats?" the

King retorted, with a strange spirt of fury; an incapacity to maintain

the same attitude of mind for two minutes together was the most fatal

weakness of his ill-balanced nature. "No. All! All!" he repeated with

vehemence. "Didn't Noah people the earth with eight? But I'll not leave

eight! My cousins, for they are blood-royal, shall live if they will

recant. And my old nurse, whether or no. And Pare, for no one else

understands my complexion. And--"

"And Rochefoucauld, doubtless, sire?"

The King, whose eye had sought his favourite companion, withdrew it. He

darted a glance at Tavannes.

"Foucauld? Who said so?" he muttered jealously. "Not I! But we shall

see. We shall see! And do you see that you spare no one, M. le Comte,

without an order. That is your business."

"I understand, sire," Tavannes answered coolly. And after a moment's

silence, seeing that the King had done with him, he bowed low and

withdrew; watched by the circle, as all about a King were watched in the

days when a King's breath meant life or death, and his smile made the

fortunes of men. As he passed Rochefoucauld, the latter looked up and

nodded.

"What keeps brother Charles?" he muttered. "He's madder than ever to-

night. Is it a masque or a murder he is planning?"

"The vapours," Tavannes answered, with a sneer. "Old tales his old nurse

has stuffed him withal. He'll come by-and-by, and 'twill be well if you

can divert him."

"I will, if he come," Rochefoucauld answered, shuffling the cards. "If

not 'tis Chicot's business, and he should attend to it. I'm tired, and

shall to bed."

"He will come," Tavannes answered, and moved, as if to go on. Then he

paused for a last word. "He will come," he muttered, stooping and

speaking under his breath, his eyes on the other's face. "But play him

lightly. He is in an ugly mood. Please him, if you can, and it may

serve."