“'_Pardieu!_ you must not say so; I lost a rouleau last night. But whom have we here?' “'My son; so please you, Sire, my only son, who desires, at an earlier age than even his father did, to serve your Majesty.' [Illustration: 230] “'How like his mother!' said the king, pushing back the fair ringlets from the boy's forehead, and gazing almost fondly on his handsome features,--'how like her! She was a Courcelles?' “'She was, Sire,' said Arnoud, as the tears fell on his cheek and coursed slowly along his face. “'And you want something for him?' said the king, resuming his wonted tone, while he busied himself with his sword-knot; 'is it not so?' “'If I might dare to ask--' “'Assuredly you may. The thing is, what can we do? Eh, Verneuil, what say you? He is but an infant.' “'True, Sire,' replied the marquis, with a look of respect, in which the most subtle could not discover a trait of his sarcastic nature; 'but there is a place vacant.' “'Ah, indeed,' said the king, quickly. 'What is it? He shall have it.' “'Monsieur Jacotot, your Majesty's head cook, stands in need of a turnspit,' said he, in a low whisper, only audible to the king. “'A turnspit!' said the king. And scarcely was the word uttered when, as if the irony was his own, he burst into a most immoderate fit of laughter,--an emotion that seemed to increase as he endeavored to repress it; when at the instant the _cor de chasse_, then heard without, gave a new turn to his thoughts, and he hurried forward with De Yerneuil, leaving De Gency and his son rooted to the spot,--indignant passion in that heart which despair and sorrow had almost rendered callous. “His Majesty was still laughing as he mounted his barb in the courtyard; and the courtiers, like well-bred gentlemen, laughed as became them, with that low, quiet laugh which is the meet chorus of a sovereign's mirth, when suddenly two loud reports, so rapidly following on each other as almost to seem one, startled the glittering cortege, and even made the Arab courser of the king plunge madly in the air. “'_Par Saint Denis!_Messieurs,' said Louis, passionately, 'this pleasantry of yours is ill thought of. Who has dared to do this?' “But none spoke. A terrified look around the circle was the only reply to the king's question, when a page rushed forward, his dress spotted and blood-stained, his face pale with horror,-- “'Your Majesty,--ah, Sire!' said he, kneeling. But sobs choked him, and he could not utter more. “'What is this? Will no one tell?' cried the king, as a frown of dark omen shadowed his angry features. “'Your Majesty has lost a brave, an honest, and a faithful follower, Sire,' said Monsieur de Coulanges. 'Arnoud de Gency is no more.' “'Why, I saw him this instant,' said the king. 'He asked me some favor for his boy.' “'True, Sire,' replied De Coulanges, mournfully. But he checked himself in time, for already the well-known and dreaded expression of passion had mounted to the king's face.