At first I thought they would refuse me, for they drew aside and talked in whispers. Then one in authority said, "Better take her; who can tell what will happen next, or which way the wheel will turn." So they led me in through the triple gates, Anita with her nose between her knees for weariness, and the fellow who held the rein cursing her slowness, while he looked back at the entrance as if his heart lay there. Midway, down a quadrangle, he pointed to a door. "Commines' lodgings," he said curtly, and returned, running, the way he came. Leaving Anita where she stood, I pushed the door open and called aloud-- "Monsieur de Commines! Monsieur de Commines!" "He is with the King," answered a voice from the floor above, and leisurely feet moved towards the stairs. "Who wants Monseigneur?" "Gaspard de Helville," said I; "and oh! Monsieur, whoever you are; if you have any pity, will you make haste!" "Gaspard de Helville!" The leisurely tread quickened to a run, and a well-grown page lad came flying downstairs almost at a leap. "De Helville? How can that be? De Helville is--Madame--Mademoiselle--" "Monsieur de Commines? Bring me to him. Oh, Monsieur! can you not see the haste and trouble I am in?" "But he is with the King." "Then he must leave the King." "But the King is ill, some say dying----" "Other men die as well as kings, and are we all to go a-mourning because the King is ill? I must--do you hear?--I must see Monsieur de Commines." Then I tried a woman's wile upon him. Smoothing back my hair, so that he could see my face, the weary whiteness of it, and the great black hollows circling the eyes, I touched him timidly. "See, Monsieur, I have ridden all night from Poictiers to save Gaspard de Helville's life--I, a woman, and alone. I know there is a risk to you in this thing I ask----" "I'll do it," he said curtly, too much of a man not to be moved, and too much of a boy not to be wounded in his pride; "that is, I'll put a message through, but I don't believe Monseigneur can come!" "Ah, Monsieur!" I cried, "your heart does justice to your kindly face," which made him redden, for it was his susceptibility that was touched rather than his heart, and he was still too much of a boy to relish a compliment. "Fetch pen, ink, and wax, that I may write the message." For this very purpose I had brought with me the letter Monsieur de Commines had written to Navarre months before, and which was the cause of my journey to Paris. As may be supposed, it was not one to compromise the writer, no matter into whose hands it fell. Across it I wrote--_Suzanne de Narbonne_. _The Cross of Flanders_. _Paris_; and, reversing it so that the letter and address were inside, sealed it with the King's seal as a warrant for any importunity at the door of the sick room. "Is anything known of Monsieur de Helville?" I asked, tying a strand of silk through the wax with hands that shook as much from dread of the answer as with fatigue.