“I acknowledge, then, that I am effeminate, idle, and hypocritical.” “It is true.” “I have ill-treated my wife--such a worthy woman.” “One ought to love one’s wife as one’s self, and prefer her to all things,” said the voice, angrily. “Ah!” cried Chicot, “then I have sinned deeply.” “And you have made others sin by your example.” “It is true.” “Especially that poor St. Luc; and if you do not send him home to-morrow to his wife, there will be no pardon for you.” “Ah!” said Chicot to the king, “the voice seems to be friendly to the house of Cossé.” “And you must make him a duke, to recompense him for his forced stay.” “Peste!” said Chicot; “the angel is much interested for M. de St. Luc.” “Oh!” cried the king, without listening, “this voice from on high will kill me.” “Voice from the side, you mean,” said Chicot. “How! a voice from the side?” “Yes; can you not hear that the voice comes from that wall, Henri?--the angel lodges in the Louvre.” “Blasphemer!” “Why, it is honorable for you; but you do not seem to recognize it. Go and visit him; he is only separated from you by that partition.” A ray of the moon falling on Chicot’s face, showed it to the king so laughing and amused, that he said, “What! you dare to laugh?” “Yes, and so will you in a minute. Be reasonable, and do as I tell you. Go and see if the angel be not in the next room.” “But if he speak again?” “Well, I am here to answer. He is vastly credulous. For the last quarter of an hour I have been talking, and he has not recognized me. It is not clever!” Henri frowned. “I begin to believe you are right, Chicot,” said he. “Go, then.” Henri opened softly the door which led into the corridor. He had scarcely entered it, when he heard the voice redoubling its reproaches, and Chicot replying. “Yes,” said the voice, “you are as inconstant as a woman, as soft as a Sybarite, as irreligious as a heathen.” “Oh!” whined Chicot, “is it my fault if I have such a soft skin--such white hands--such a changeable mind? But from to-day I will alter--I will wear coarse linen----” However, as Henri advanced, he found that Chicot’s voice grew fainter, and the other louder, and that it seemed to come from St. Luc’s room, in which he could see a light. He stooped down and peeped through the keyhole, and immediately grew pale with anger. “Par la mordieu!” murmured he, “is it possible that they have dared to play such a trick?” This is what he saw through the keyhole. St. Luc, in a dressing-gown, was roaring through a tube the words which he had found so dreadful, and beside him, leaning on his shoulder, was a lady in white, who every now and then took the tube from him, and called through something herself, while stifled bursts of laughter accompanied each sentence of Chicot’s, who continued to answer in a doleful tone. “Jeanne de Cossé in St. Luc’s room! A hole in the wall! such a trick on me! Oh! they shall pay dearly for it!”. And with a vigorous kick he burst open the door.