The crackle of the paper was a louder voiced threat than my own, and as such the man I left swearing behind me understood it. CHAPTER XXV IN WHAT WAY THE KING SOUGHT THE PEACE OF NAVARRE Of the many thoughts that danced across the darkness of my mind, thoughts as impotent of light as fireflies flashing through a summer's gloom, one alone brought any satisfaction--Brother Paulus could make clear the King's instructions. Nor was I afraid that through seeking his aid would come any premature disclosure of our scheme for securing the peace of Navarre. The choice of Latin was now finally clear to me. It was not simply that it concealed the writer's identity, but it readily lent itself to translation. Thanks be to God! the ministrations of the Church are always to be found in this Christian country of ours, and where the Church is, there is learning. Louis could be trusted not to betray his purposes. Through fear of death he was the Church's humble son and servant in all things spiritual, but woe to the priest who, presuming on his office, meddled in things temporal to the detriment of France. At the door Brother Paul met me, his finger on his lip. "He is asleep," he whispered, beckoning me to be quiet. "The early rising and the ride have tired him. A noble-hearted boy, Monsieur--loving, brave, unselfish. I think he will grow to be a good man, a hard thing for one born great. Some day Navarre will bless Gaston de Foix. Speak softly, though indeed a thunderclap would hardly waken him now, he sleeps so sound." "So much the better, he has still far to ride. All the better, too, for now we can talk more freely. Father Paul, what does this say?" It was wonderful how his eyes lightened. At Morsigny he had made no parade of learning, but, hiding it out of sight, had lowered his talk to the level of our ignorance. But the scrawl of Latin was to him as the face of his mistress to a devout lover, and it was with a kind of quaint reverence that he took the crumpled paper, smoothing out the creases tenderly. "This, my son? Where did this come from?" "I found it a while back. It is Basque, is it not?" "Basque! No, no, Latin, and, I think, better in the letter than in the spirit." "Latin! and that I should have taken it for Basque! I shall have to go to school again. What does it say, Father? Curiosity always has an itch for the unknown." "That, too, is the gift of God, or how would learning grow? But this--this is foolish, or worse. _Numquid vivet_? _Non vivet_. _Morte morietur, sed statim interficies_. Oh, my son, that is not good! Either it is part of some horoscope, a sinful wresting of their secrets from the stars, or else an unhappy soul has sold himself to Satan for a necromantic prophesy, and such a prophesy!" "But, Father," I cried, almost forgetting both love and reverence in impatience, "what, is it?--what is it?"