Weighted with many thoughts, Sir Roger de Launay, whose taciturn and
easy temperament disinclined him for argument and kept him aloof from
discussion whenever he could avoid it, sat alone one evening in his own
room which adjoined the King's library, writing a few special letters
for his Majesty which were of too friendly a nature to be dealt with in
the curt official manner of the private secretary. Once or twice he had
risen and drawn aside the dividing curtain between himself and the
King's apartment to see if his Royal master had entered; but the room
remained empty, though it was long past eleven at night. He looked
every now and again at a small clock which ticked with a quick
intrusive cheerfulness on his desk,--then with a slight sigh resumed
his work. Letter after letter was written and sealed, and he was
getting to the end of his correspondence, when a tap at the door
disturbed him, and his sister Teresa, the Queen's lady-in-waiting,
entered.
"Is the King within?" she asked softly, moving almost on tiptoe as she
came.
Sir Roger shook his head.
"He has been absent for some time," he replied,--then after a pause--
"But what are you here for, Teresa? This is not your department!" and
he took her hand kindly, noticing with some concern that there were
tears in her large dark eyes;--"Is anything wrong?"
"Nothing! That is,--nothing that I have any right to imagine--or to
guess.
Pages:
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563