"Yes; our Majesty--our King"--replied De Launay--"For some inscrutable
reason or other he has suddenly adopted the dangerous policy of
speaking his mind. What now?"

"What now? Why nothing particular just now,--unless you have something
to tell me. Which, judging from your entangled expression of eye, I
presume you have."

De Launay hesitated a moment. The Professor saw his hesitation.

"Do not speak, my friend, if you think you are committing a breach of
confidence," he said composedly--"In the brief affairs of this life, it
is better to keep trouble on your own mind than impart it to others."

"Oh, there is no breach of confidence;" said De Launay, "The thing is
as public as the day, or if it is not public already, it soon will be
made so. That is where the mischief comes in,--or so I think. Judge for
yourself!" And in a few words he gave the gist of the interview which
had taken place between the King and the emissary of the Jesuits that
morning.

"Nothing surprises me as a rule,"--said the Professor, when he had
heard all--"But if anything could prick the sense of astonishment anew
in me, it would be to think that anyone, king or commoner, should take
the trouble to speak truth to a Jesuit. Why, the very essence of their
carefully composed and diplomatic creed, is to so disguise truth that
it shall be no more recognisable. Myself, I believe the Jesuits to be
the lineal descendants of those priests who served Bel and the Dragon.
The art of conjuring and deception is in their very blood. It is for