ight of his face grown dim.
It had come back to its shining, however, the next day when he went before the King.
"It may well be that there is one bad man who hath power," he said to himself, "and he the Archbishop; but God would not grant that all be so," and hope beamed again from his eyes.
"'Tis the son of my old friend, Guy of Lamont, sayest thou?" cried the King, as he raised the lad's chin with one royal finger. "By my troth, 'tis his father's face again, but different."
"Sire," said Louis, as he did reverence, "I have come to tell of cruel wrong, and to win from thee a promise of redress."
"Thou shalt have it!" cried the King, with his hand upon his sword. "Friend or child of my friend went never yet uncomforted from the foot of my throne. Speak thy wrong."
Then the youth told him all that he had told the Archbishop, and added thereto other tales, and hope shone sternly in his eyes.
"Send forth with me a band of thy men-at-arms," prayed the suppliant. "E