While thus engaged, an arras door opened behind him, revealing the charming little curly head of a girl of eighteen or nineteen years. No one could have seen that exquisite figure moving along with such easy and consummate grace without confessing he had never before seen such exquisite beauty and fascinating manner. Her charm appeared not only in her beautiful figure, but also in the gracious expression which characterized her personality and radiated from her countenance. This maiden was the famous Agnes Sorel,[14] the favorite of Charles the Seventh, who, as history relates, was conspicuous for her womanly tenderness, and who always used her influence over the King for noble purposes and never for personal ends. The Dauphin was not aware of her presence until he felt the light touch of her hand upon his shoulder. The sight of her was magical in its effect. His face lightened up, and all traces of dejection disappeared. “Is it you, Agnes? Now everything is all right.” “What has been wrong?” she asked most tenderly. “Marie has been here. She has made my head ache and has nearly ruined my appetite. But—” “I know all about it,” interrupted Agnes. “How? You know all about it? Who could have told you?” “No one told me.” “Oh, you have been eavesdropping. Ah, ha!” “I had to. I could not go back, and of course I was not permitted to enter.” “Hm! Never mind. It is all right, just the same.” “Oh, no, Your Majesty.” “How? What do you mean?” “I share the anxiety and trouble of your proud consort.” “Nonsense! You ought not to be troubled.” “By all the saints, Your Majesty, I shall be inconsolable and unhappy if you do not abandon your decision. I should be ashamed to serve a prince who can so easily renounce his rights and his dignities.” “Well, well, I will consider the matter. Will that satisfy you?” “Oh, no, sire. You must promise me that you will not think again of that hateful scheme. Will you not for my sake?” Thereupon she triumphantly and gracefully pirouetted about the apartment. “Agnes, I take back my word,” cried the Dauphin. This made her all the happier, and she continued her dance, singing this accompaniment:— “Eio, eio, eio, no, He cannot be a King Who does not keep his word! Eio, eio, eio, O, This one here—he is not such, No, no, no, oh, no.” With the last word she suddenly disappeared, for the heavy tramp of men’s feet was heard in the antechamber. The interruption displeased the Dauphin, and he was about to leave the room, but before he could do so the new-comers stood at the door. It only increased his displeasure that he was forced to remain. The two men, whom he regarded with a sinister expression, were rough and sturdy, men of the class who stand fast in battle and look death fearlessly in the eye, knights in the truest sense of the word. “So quickly back, my brave La Hire?” said Charles to one of them.