“Is he still of the same mind?”

“Quite.”

“And what of Sully?  Is he to die then?” he asked.

“They have decided he must,” the girl answered gloomily.  It may be believed that I listened with all my ears, while the king by a nudge in my side seemed to rally me on the destiny so coolly arranged for me.  “Martin says it is no good killing the other unless he goes too—­they have been so long together.  But it vexes me sadly, Master Andrew,” she added with a sudden break in her voice.  “Sadly it vexes me.  I could not sleep last night for thinking of it, and the risk Martin runs.  And I shall sleep less when it is done.”

“Pooh-pooh!” said that rascally innkeeper.  “Think less about it.  Things will grow worse and worse if they are let live.  The King has done harm enough already.  And he grows old besides.”

“That is true!” said the girl.  “And no doubt the sooner he is put out of the way the better.  He is changed sadly.  I do not say a word for him.  Let him die.  It is killing Sully that troubles me—­that and the risk Martin runs.”

At this I took the liberty of gently touching the king.  He answered by an amused grimace; then by a motion of his hand he enjoined silence.  We stooped still farther forward so as better to command the room.  The girl was rocking herself to and fro in evident distress of mind.  “If we killed the King,” she continued, “Martin declares we should be no better off, as long as Sully lives.  Both or neither, he says.  But I do not know.  I cannot bear to think of it.  It was a sad day when we brought Epernon here, Master Andrew; and one I fear we shall rue as long as we live.”

It was now the king’s turn to be moved.  He grasped my wrist so forcibly that I restrained a cry with difficulty.  “Epernon!” he whispered harshly in my ear.  “They are Epernon’s tools!  Where is your guaranty now, Rosny?”

I confess that I trembled.  I knew well that the king, particular in small courtesies, never forgot to call his servants by their correct titles, save in two cases; when he indicated by the seeming error, as once in Marshal Biron’s affair, his intention to promote or degrade them; or when he was moved to the depths of his nature and fell into an old habit.  I did not dare to reply, but listened greedily for more information.

“When is it to be done?” asked the innkeeper, sinking his voice and glancing round, as if he would call especial attention to this.

“That depends upon Master la Riviere,” the girl answered.  “To-morrow night, I understand, if Master la Riviere can have the stuff ready.”

I met the king’s eyes.  They shone fiercely in the faint light, which issuing from the window fell on him.  Of all things he hated treachery most, and La Riviere was his first body physician, and at this very time, as I well knew, was treating him for a slight derangement which the king had brought upon himself by his imprudence.  This doctor had formerly been in the employment of the Bouillon family, who had surrendered his services to the king.  Neither I nor his majesty had trusted the Duke of Bouillon for the last year past, so that we were not surprised by this hint that he was privy to the design.