“Yes, I have been in the provinces; and now will you be good enough to render me a service?” “I shall be delighted.” “Well, you can penetrate into the Louvre, while I remain in the ante-chamber; will you tell the duke I am waiting for him?” “Why not come in with me?” “The king would not be pleased.” “Bah!” “Diable! he has not accustomed me to his most gracious smiles.” “Henceforth, for some time, all that will change.” “Ah, ah! are you a necromancer, M. Chicot?” “Sometimes; come, take courage, and come in with me.” They entered together; one went towards the apartments of the Duc d’Anjou, and the other to those of the king. Henri was just awake, and had rung, and a crowd of valets and friends had rushed in; already the chicken broth and the spiced wine were served, when Chicot entered, and without saying a word, sat down to eat and drink. “Par la mordieu!” cried the king, delighted, although he affected anger; “it is that knave of a Chicot, that fugitive, that vagabond!” “What is the matter, my son?” said Chicot, placing himself on the immense seat, embroidered with fleur-de-lis, on which the king was seated. “Here is my misfortune returned,” said Henri; “for three weeks I have been so tranquil.” “Bah! you always grumble. One would think you were one of your own subjects. Let me hear, Henriquet, how you have governed this kingdom in my absence.” “Chicot!” “Have you hung any of your curled gentlemen? Ah! pardon, M. Quelus, I did not see you.” “Chicot, I shall be angry,” said the king; but he ended by laughing, as he always did; so he went on: “But what has become of you? Do you know that I have had you sought for in all the bad parts of Paris?” “Did you search the Louvre?” Just then M. de Monsoreau entered. “Ah! it is you, monsieur,” said the king; “when shall we hunt again?” “When it shall please your majesty; I hear there are plenty of wild boars at St. Germain en Laye.” “The wild boar is dangerous,” said Chicot; “King Charles IX., I remember, was nearly killed by one. And then spears are sharp also; is it not so, Henri? and do you know your chief huntsman must have met a wolf not long ago?” “Why so?” “Because he has caught the likeness; it is striking.” M. de Monsoreau grew pale, and turning to Chicot, said: “M. Chicot, I am not used to jesters, having lived little at court, and I warn you that before my king I do not like to be humiliated, above all when I speak of my duties.” “Well, monsieur,” said Chicot, “we are not like you, we court people laughed heartily at the last joke.” “And what was that?” “Making you chief huntsman.” Monsoreau looked daggers at Chicot. “Come, come,” said Henri, “let us speak of something else.” “Yes, let us speak of the merits of Nôtre Dame de Chartres.” “Chicot, no impiety.” “I impious! it is you, on the contrary; there were two chemises accustomed to be together, and you separated them. Join them together and a miracle may happen.”