as I well knew, was treating him for a slight derangement which the king
had brought upon himself by his imprudence. This doctor had formerly been
in the employment of the Bouillon family, who had surrendered his services
to the king. Neither I nor his majesty had trusted the Duke of Bouillon
for the last year past, so that we were not surprised by this hint that he
was privy to the design.

Despite our anxiety not to miss a word, an approaching step warned us at
this moment to draw back. More than once before we had done so to escape
the notice of a wayfarer passing up and down. But this time I had a
difficulty in inducing the king to adopt the precaution. Yet it was well
that I succeeded, for the person who came stumbling along toward us did
not pass, but, mounting the steps, walked by within touch of us and
entered the house.

"The plot thickens," muttered the king. "Who is this?"

At the moment he asked I was racking my brain to remember. I have a good
eye and a fair recollection for faces, and this was one I had seen several
times. The features were so familiar that I suspected the man of being a
courtier in disguise, and I ran over the names of several persons whom I
knew to be Bouillon's secret agents. But he was none of these, and obeying
the king's gesture, I bent myself again to the task of listening.

The girl looked up on the man's entrance, but did not rise. "You are late,
Martin," she said.

"A little," the newcomer answered. "How do you do, Master Andrew? What
cheer? What, still vexing, mistress?" he added contemptuously to the girl.
"You have too soft a heart for this business!"