I was hot and cold and trembling, my heart pounding till it was like to choke me.  I had never dreamed of finding myself in the presence.  I had never thought to face any man greater than my duke.  For the moment I was utterly discomfited.  Then I bethought me that not for God alone were knees given to man, and I slid down quietly to the floor, hoping I did right, but reflecting for my comfort that in any case I was too small to give great offence.

Mademoiselle started out of her chair and swept a curtsey almost to the ground, holding the lowly pose like a lady of marble.  Only Monsieur remained standing as he was, as if a king was an every-day affair with him.  I always thought Monsieur a great man, but now I knew it.

The king, leaving his companion to close the door, was across the room in three strides.

“I am come to look after you, St. Quentin,” he cried, laughing.  “I cannot have my council broken up by pretty grisettes.  The precedent is dangerous.”

With the liveliest curiosity and amusement he surveyed the top of mademoiselle’s bent head, and Monsieur’s puzzled, troubled countenance.

“This is no grisette, Sire,” Monsieur answered, “but a very high-born demoiselle indeed—­cousin to my Lord Mayenne.”

Astonishment flashed over the king’s mobile face; his manner changed in an instant to one of utmost deference.

“Rise, mademoiselle,” he begged, as if her appearance were the most natural and desirable thing in the world.  “I could wish it were my good adversary Mayenne himself who was come to treat with us; but be assured his cousin shall lack no courtesy.”

She swayed lightly to her feet, raising her face to the king’s.  Into his countenance, which mirrored his emotions like a glass, came a quick delight at the sight of her.  The colour waxed and waned in her cheeks; her breath fluttered uncertainly; her eyes, anxious, eager, searched his face.

“I cry your Majesty’s good pardon,” she faltered.  “I had urgent business with M. de St. Quentin—­I did not guess he was with your Majesty—­”

“The king’s business is glad to step aside for yours, mademoiselle.”

She curtseyed, blushing, hiding her eyes under their sooty lashes; thinking as I did, I made no doubt, here was a king indeed.  His Majesty went on: 

“I can well believe, mademoiselle, ’tis no trifling matter brings you at midnight to our rough camp.  We will not delay you further, but be at pains to remember that if in anything Henry of France can aid you he stands at your command.”

[Illustration:  ON THE WAY TO ST. DENIS.]

He made her a noble bow and took her hand to kiss, when she, like a child that sees itself losing a protector, clutched his hand in her little trembling fingers, her wet eyes fixed imploringly on his face.  He beamed upon her; he felt no desire whatever to be gone.

“Am I to stay?” he asked radiantly; then with grave gentleness he added:  “Mademoiselle is in trouble.  Will she bring her trouble to the king?  That is what a king is for—­to ease his subjects’ burdens.”