These delightful sounds were but partially heard – they languished, lingered, ceased entirely, and were from time to time renewed after uncertain intervals. But, besides that music, like beauty, is often most delightful, or at least most interesting to the imagination, when its charms are but partially displayed, and the imagination is left to fill up what is from distance but imperfectly detailed, Quentin had matter enough to fill up his reverie during the intervals of fascination. He could not doubt, from the report of his uncle's comrades, and the scene which had passed in the presence-chamber that morning, that the siren who thus delighted his ears, was not, as he had profanely supposed, the daughter or kinswoman of a base cabaretier, but the same disguised and distressed Countess, for whose cause Kings and Princes were now about to buckle on armour, and put lance in rest. A hundred, wild dreams, such as romantic and adventurous youth readily nourished in a romantic and adventurous age, chased from his eyes the bodily presentment of the actual scene, and substituted their own bewildering delusions, when at once, and rudely, they were banished by a rough grasp laid upon his weapon, and a harsh voice which exclaimed, close to his ear, "Ha! Pasques-dieu, Sir Squire, methinks you keep sleepy ward here!"

The voice was the tuneless, yet impressive and ironical tone of Maitre Pierre, and Quentin, suddenly recalled to himself, saw, with shame and fear, that he had, in his reverie, permitted Louis himself – entering probably by some secret door, and gliding along by the wall, or behind the tapestry – to approach him so nearly, as almost to master his weapon.

The first impulse of his surprise was to free his harquebuss by a violent exertion, which made the King stagger backward into the hall. His next apprehension was, that in obeying the animal instinct, as it may be termed, which prompts a brave man to resist an attempt to disarm him, he had aggravated, by a personal struggle with the King, the displeasure produced by the negligence with which he had performed his duty upon guard; and, under this impression, he recovered his harquebuss without almost knowing what he did, and, having again shouldered it, stood motionless before the Monarch, whom he had reason to conclude he had mortally offended.

Louis, whose tyrannical disposition was less founded on natural ferocity or cruelty of temper, than on cold-blooded policy and jealous suspicion, had, nevertheless, a share of that caustic severity which would have made him a despot in private conversation, and always seemed to enjoy the pain which he inflicted on occasions like the present. But he did not push his triumph far, and contented himself with saying, – "Thy service of the morning hath already overpaid some negligence in so young a soldier – Hast thou dined?"

Quentin, who rather looked to be sent to the Provost-Marshal, than greeted with such a compliment, answered humbly in the negative.

"Poor lad," said Louis, in a softer tone than he usually spoke in, "hunger hath made him drowsy. – I know thine appetite is a wolf," he continued; "and I will save thee from one wild beast as thou didst me from another; – thou hast been prudent too in that matter, and I thank thee for it. – Canst thou yet hold out an hour without food?"

"Four-and-twenty, Sire," replied Durward, "or I were no true Scot."

"I would not for another kingdom be the pasty which should encounter thee after such a vigil," said the King; "but the question now is, not of thy dinner, but of my own. I admit to my table this day, and in strict privacy, the Cardinal Balue and this Burgundian – this Count de Crèvecoeur, and something may chance – the devil is most busy when foes meet on terms of truce."

He stopped, and remained silent, with a deep and gloomy look. As the King was in no haste to proceed, Quentin at length ventured to ask what his duty was to be in these circumstances.

"To keep watch at the beauffet, with thy loaded weapon," said Louis; "and if there is treason, to shoot the traitor dead."

"Treason, Sire! and in this guarded Castle!" exclaimed Durward.

"You think it impossible," said the King, not offended, it would seem, by his frankness; "but our history has shown that treason can creep into an auger-hole. – Treason excluded by guards! O thou silly boy! – quis custodiat ipsos custodes – who shall exclude the treason of those very warders?"

"Their Scottish honour," answered Durward, boldly.

"True; most right – thou pleasest me," said the King, cheerfully; "the Scottish honour was ever true, and I trust it accordingly. But treason!" – Here he relapsed into his former gloomy mood, and traversed the apartment with unequal steps – "She sits at our feasts, she sparkles in our bowls, she wears the beard of our counsellors, the smiles of our courtiers, the crazy laugh of our jesters – above all, she lies hid under the friendly air of a reconciled enemy. Louis of Orleans trusted John of Burgundy – he was murdered in the Rue Barbette. John of Burgundy trusted the faction of Orleans – he was murdered on the Bridge of Montereau. – I will trust no one – no one. Hark ye; I will keep my eye on that insolent Count; ay, and on the Churchman too, whom I hold not too faithful. When I say, Ecosse, en avant[24], shoot Crèvecoeur dead on the spot."

"It is my duty," said Quentin, "your Majesty's life being endangered."

"Certainly – I mean it no otherwise," said the King. – "What should I get by slaying this insolent soldier? – Were it the Constable Saint Paul indeed" – Here he paused, as if he thought he had said a word too much, but resumed, laughing, "There's our brother-in-law, James of Scotland – your own James, Quentin – poniarded the Douglas when on a hospitable visit, within his own royal castle of Skirling."

"Of Stirling," said Quentin, "and so please your highness. – It was a deed of which came little good."

"Stirling call you the castle?" said the King, overlooking the latter part of Quentin's speech – "Well, let it be Stirling – the name is nothing to the purpose. But I meditate no injury to these men – none – It would serve me nothing. They may not purpose equally fair by me. – I rely on thy harquebuss."

"I shall be prompt at the signal," said Quentin; "but yet" –

"You hesitate," said the King. "Speak out – I give thee full leave. From such as thou art, hints may be caught that are right valuable."

"I would only presume to say," replied Quentin, "that your Majesty having occasion to distrust this Burgundian, I marvel that you suffer him to approach so near your person, and that in privacy."

"O content you, Sir Squire," said the King. "There are some dangers, which, when they are braved, disappear, and which yet, when there is an obvious and apparent dread of them displayed, become certain and inevitable. When I walk boldly up to a surly mastiff, and caress him, it is ten to one I soothe him to good temper; if I show fear of him, he flies on me and rends me. I will be thus far frank with thee – It concerns me nearly that this man returns not to his headlong master in a resentful humour. I run my risk, therefore. I have never shunned to expose my life for the weal of my kingdom. – Follow me."

Louis led his young Life-guards-man, for whom he seemed to have taken a special favour, through the side-door by which he had himself entered, saying, as he showed it him, "He who would thrive at Court must know the private wickets and concealed staircases – ay, and the traps and pitfalls of the palace, as well as the principal entrances, folding-doors, and portals."

After several turns and passages, the King entered a small vaulted room, where a table was prepared for dinner with three covers. The whole furniture and arrangements of the room were plain almost to meanness. A beauffet, or folding and movable cupboard, held a few pieces of gold and silver plate, and was the only article in the chamber which had, in the slightest degree, the appearance of royalty. Behind this cupboard, and completely hidden by it, was the post which Louis assigned to Quentin Durward; and after having ascertained, by going to different parts of the room, that he was invisible from all quarters, he gave him his last charge – "Remember the word, Ecosse, en avant; and so soon as ever I utter these sounds, throw down the screen – spare not for cup or goblet, and be sure thou take good aim at Crèvecoeur – If thy piece fail, cling to him, and use thy knife – Oliver and I can deal with the Cardinal."