‘Nay, but that honour I must take from you’ he replied, smiling; ‘though I see that you would make an excellent courtier--far better than Du Mornay here, who never in his life made so pretty a speech. For I must lay my commands on you to keep this visit a secret, M. de Marsac. Should but the slightest whisper of it get abroad, your usefulness, as far as I am concerned, would be gone, and gone for good!’ So remarkable a statement filled me with wonder I could scarcely disguise. It was with difficulty I found words to assure the king that his commands should be faithfully obeyed. ‘Of that I am sure,’ he answered with the utmost kindness. ‘Where I not, and sure, too, from what I am told of your gallantry when my cousin took Brouage, that you are a man of deeds rather than words, I should not be here with the proposition I am going to lay before you. It is this. I can give you no hope of public employment, M. de Marsac, but I can offer you an adventure if adventures be to your taste--as dangerous and as thankless as any Amadis ever undertook.’ ‘As thankless, sire?’ I stammered, doubting if I had heard aright, the expression was so strange. ‘As thankless,’ he answered, his keen eyes seeming to read my soul. ‘I am frank with you, you see, sir,’ he continued, carelessly. ‘I can suggest this adventure--it is for the good of the State--I can do no more. The King of Navarre cannot appear in it, nor can he protect you. Succeed or fail in it, you stead alone. The only promise I make is, that if it ever be safe for me to acknowledge the act, I will reward the doer.’ He paused, and for a few moments I stared at him in sheer amazement. What did he mean? Were he and the other real figures, or was I dreaming? ‘Do you understand?’ he asked at length, with a touch of impatience. ‘Yes, sire, I think I do,’ I murmured, very certain in truth and reality that I did not. ‘What do you say, then--yes or no?’ he rejoined. ‘Will you undertake the adventure, or would you hear more before you make up your mind?’ I hesitated. Had I been a younger man by ten years I should doubtless have cried assent there and then, having been all my life ready enough to embark on such enterprises as offered a chance of distinction. But something in the strangeness of the king’s preface, although I had it in my heart to die for him, gave me check, and I answered, with an air of great humility, ‘You will think me but a poor courtier now, sire, yet he is a fool who jumps into a ditch without measuring the depth. I would fain, if I may say it without disrespect, hear all that you can tell me.’ ‘Then I fear,’ he answered quickly, ‘if you would have more light on the matter, my friend, you must get another candle.’