A grave, almost stern look came into the officer's face,
making it at once that of an older man. "Then ye think
the old order best?" he asked, scanning the man with his
steady blue eyes.

The bondsman put his hand on the signboard. "'T is
safest to stick to an old figurehead until one can find a true
leader," he answered.

"And think you he is one?" demanded the officer, pointing
at the signboard.

Charles laughed and laid a finger on the chin of royalty.
"No man with so little of that was ever a leader," he asserted.
He reached down and picked up a different pot of paint from
the one he had been using, dipped his brush in it, and with
one sweep over the lower part of the face cleverly produced
a chin of character. Then he took another colour and gave
three or four deft touches to the lips, transforming the expressionless
mouth into a larger one, but giving to it both strength
and expression. "There is a beginning of a leader, I think,"
he said.

"Thou art quick with thy brush and quick with thy eyes,"
replied the man, smiling slightly and starting to go. In the
doorway he turned and said with a sudden gravity, quite as
much to himself as to the bondsman: "Please God that thou
be as true in opinion."