She glanced around her, and saw that her lady-in-waiting, Teresa de Launay, had discreetly wandered by herself to the edge of the water-lily pool, and was bending over it, a graceful, pensive figure in the near distance, within call, but certainly not within hearing. “You are in his confidence,” she repeated, drawing a step nearer to him, “and--so am I! You will not disclose his movements--nor shall I! But you are his close attendant and friend,--I am merely--his wife! I make you responsible for his safety!” “Madam, I pray you pardon me!” exclaimed De Launay; “His Majesty has a will of his own,--and his sacred life is not in my hands. I will defend him to the utmost limit of human possibility,--but if he voluntarily runs into danger, and disregards all warning, I, as his poor servant, am not to blame!” Her eyes, brilliant and full of a compelling magnetism, dwelt upon him steadfastly. “I repeat my command,” she said deliberately, “I make you responsible! You are a strong man and a brave one. If the King is rash, it is the duty of his servants to defend him from the consequences of his rashness; particularly if that rashness leads him into danger for a noble purpose. Should any mischance befall him, let me never see your face again! Die yourself, rather than let your King die!” As she spoke these words she motioned him away with a grand gesture of dismissal, and he retired back from her presence in a kind of stunned amazement. Never before in all the days of her social sway as Crown-Princess, had she ever condescended to speak to him on any matter of confidence,--never during her three years of sovereignty as Queen-Consort had she apparently taken note, or cared to know any of the affairs connected with the King, her husband. The mere fact that now her interest was roused, moved De Launay to speechless wonderment. He hardly dared raise his eyes to look at her, as she turned from him and went slowly, with her usual noiseless, floating grace of movement, towards the water-lily pool, there to rejoin her attendant, Teresa de Launay, who at the same time advanced to meet her Royal mistress. A moment more, and Queen and lady of honour had disappeared together, and De Launay was left alone. A little bird, swinging on a branch above his head, piped a few tender notes to the green leaves and the sunlit sky, but beyond this, and the measured plash of the fountain, no sound disturbed the stillness of the garden. “Upon my word, Roger de Launay,” he said bitterly to himself, “you are an ass sufficiently weighted with burdens! The love of a Queen, and the life of a King are enough for one man’s mind to carry with any degree of safety! If it were not for the King, I think I should leave this country and seek some other service--but I owe him much,--if only by reason of my own heart’s folly!”