"So brave, that it is almost impossible to believe that you
can be a King!"
He smiled.
"Speak! Speak, my friend!" he urged; "Our comrades are watching our
conference like famished tigers! Give them food!"
Thus adjured, Thord advanced, and confronted the murmuring,
gesticulating crowd of men, some of whom were wrathfully expostulating
with Johan Zegota, because he declined to unlock the door of the room
and let them out, till he had received his Chief's commands to do so.
Others were grouped round Paul Zouche, who had sat apparently stricken
immovable in his chair ever since the King had declared his identity;
and others showed themselves somewhat inclined to 'hustle' Sir Roger de
Launay and Professor von Glauben, who guarded the approach to the
platform like sentinels,--though they were discreet enough to show no
weapons of defence.
"Comrades!"
The rich, deep voice of their leader thrilled through the room, and
brought them all to silence and attention.
"Comrades!" said Thord slowly,--his accents vibrating with the deepest
emotion. "I desire and command you all to be satisfied that no wrong
has been done to you! I ask you all to understand, fully and surely,
that no wrong is intended to you! The man whom we have loved,--the man
who has served us faithfully as Pasquin Leroy,--is still the same man,
though the King! Rank cannot alter his proved friendship and service,--
nor kingship break his bond! He is one of us,--signed and sealed in the
blood of Lotys;--and as one of us he must, and will remain! Have I
spoken truly?" he added, turning to the King, "or is there more that I
should say?"
Before any reply could be given a hubbub of voices cried:--
"Explain! Confess! Bind him to his oath!"
Whereat the King, stepping forward a pace or two, confronted his would-
be doubters and detractors with a dauntless composure.
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