Part 71 (2/2)

”All this magnificence,” he mused; ”all this wealth cannot purchase back a life, or bring comfort to a stricken heart! Nor can it vie with a poet's rhyme, which, often unvalued, and always unpaid for, sometimes outlasts a thousand thrones!”

Here, seeing the tall figure of Sir Roger de Launay coming between him and the light, he rose and advanced a step or two.

”Why, Zouche,” said Sir Roger kindly, greeting him with a smile; ”You are up betimes! They tell me you want to see the King. Is it not a somewhat early call? His Majesty has only just left his sleeping-apartment, and is busy writing urgent letters. Will you entrust me with your message?”

Paul Zouche looked at him fixedly.

”My message is from Lotys!” he said deliberately; ”And it must be delivered to the King in person!”

Vaguely alarmed, Sir Roger recoiled a step.

”You bring ill news?” he whispered.

”I do not know whether it will prove ill or well;” answered Zouche wearily; ”But such news as I have, must be told to his Majesty alone.”

Sir Roger paused a moment, hesitating; then he said:

”If that is so--if that must be so,--then come with me!”

He led the way, and Zouche followed. Entering the King's private library where the King himself sat at his writing-desk, Sir Roger announced the unexpected visitor, adding in a low tone that he came 'from Lotys!'

The King started up, and threw down his pen.

”From Lotys!” he echoed, while through his mind there flew a sudden sweet hope that after all the star was willing to fall!--the flower was ready to be gathered!--and that the woman who had sent him away from her the day before, had a heart too full of love to remain obdurate to the pleadings of her kingly lover!--”Paul Zouche, with a message from Lotys?

Let him come in!”

Whereupon Zouche, bidden to enter, did so, and stood in the Royal presence unabashed, but quite silent. An ominous presentiment crept coldly through the monarch's warm veins, as he saw the dreary pain expressed on the features of the man, who had so persistently scorned him and his offered bounty,--and with a slight, but imperative sign, he dismissed Sir Roger de Launay, who retired reluctantly, full of forebodings.

”Now Zouche,” he said gently; ”What do you seek of me? What is your message?”

Zouche looked full at him.

”As King,” he answered, ”I seek nothing from you! As comrade”--and his accents faltered--”I would fain break bad news to you gently--I would spare you as much as possible--and give you time to face the blow,--for I know you loved her! Lotys----”

The monarch's heart almost stood still. What was this hesitating tone--these great tears in Zouche's eyes?

”Lotys!” he repeated slowly, and in a faint whisper; ”Yes, yes--go on!

Go on, comrade! Lotys?”

”Lotys is dead!”

An awful stillness followed the words. Stiff and rigid the King sat, as though stricken by sudden paralysis, giving no sign. Minute after minute slipped away,--and he uttered not a word, nor did he raise his eyes from the fixed study of the carpet at his feet.

”Lotys is dead!” went on Zouche, speaking in a slow monotonous way.

”This morning, the first thing--they found her. She had killed herself. The pistol was in her hand. And they are laying her out with flowers,--like a bride, or a queen,--and you can go and see her at rest so,--for the last time,--if you will! This is my message! It is a message from the dead!”

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