“I tell you,” pursued the King, “that there is something in the mortal composition of every man which is beyond mortality, something which clamours to be heard, and seen, and proved. We may call it conscience, intellect, spirit or soul, and attribute its existence, to God, as a spark of the Divine Essence, but whatever it is, it is in every one of us; and there comes a moment in life when it must flame out, or be quenched forever. That moment has come to me, Roger,--that something in me must have its way!” “Your Majesty no doubt desires the impossible!”--said Sir Roger with a smile, “All men do,--even kings!” “‘Even kings!’” echoed the monarch--“You may well say ‘even’ kings! What are kings? Simply the most wronged and miserable men on earth! I do not myself put in a special claim for pity. My realm is small, and my people are, for aught I can learn or am told of them, contented. But other sovereigns who are my friends and neighbours, live, as it were, under the dagger’s point,--with dynamite at their feet and pistols at their heads,--all for no fault of their own, but for the faults of a system which they did not formulate. Conspirators on the threshold--poison in the air,--as in Russia, for example!--where is the joy or the pride of being a King nowadays?” “Talking of poison,” said Sir Roger blandly, as he placed the last document of those he had collected, neatly in a leather case and strapped it--“Your Majesty may perhaps feel inclined to defer giving the promised audience to Monsignor Del Fords of the Society of Jesus?” “By Heaven, I had forgotten him!” and the King rose. “This is what you came to remind me of, Roger? He is here?” De Launay bowed an assent. “Well! We have kept a messenger of Mother Church waiting our pleasure,--and not for the first time in the annals of history! But why do you associate his name with poison?” “Really, Sir, the connection is inexplicable,--unless it be the memory of a religious lesson-book given to me in my childhood. It was an illustrated treasure, and one picture showed me the Almighty in the character of an old gentleman seated placidly on a cloud, smiling;--while on the earth below, a priest, exactly resembling this Del Fortis, poured a spoonful of something,--poison--or it might have been boiling lead--down the throat of a heretic. I remember it impressed me very much with the goodness of God.” He maintained a whimsical gravity as he spoke, and the King laughed. “De Launay, you are incorrigible! Come!--we will go within and see this Del Fortis, and you shall remain present during the audience. That will give you a chance to improve your present impression of him. I understand he is a very brilliant and leading member of his Order,--likely to be the next Vicar-General. I know his errand,--the papers concerning his business are there--,” and he waved his hand towards the leather case Sir Roger had just fastened--“Bring them with you!”