"Of what?" I asked, gaily. "I do not know; but I dreamed last night that a house fell on me in the Rue de la Ferronerie, and I cannot help thinking that I shall die in that way." "Very well," I said. "It is well to know that." He asked me peevishly what I meant. "Only," I explained, "that, in that case, as your Majesty need never pass through that street, you have it in your hands to live for ever." "Perhaps it may not happen there--in that very street," he answered. "And perhaps it may not happen yet," I rejoined. And then, more seriously, "Come, sire," I continued, "why this sudden weakness? I have known you face death a hundred times." "But not after such a dream as I had last night," he said, with a grimace--yet I could see that he was already comforted. "I thought that I was passing along that street in my coach, and on a sudden, between St. Innocent's church and the notary's--there is a notary's there?" "Yes, sire," I said, somewhat surprised. "I heard a great roar, and something struck me down, and I found myself pinned to the ground, in darkness, with my mouth full of dust, and an immense beam on my chest. I lay for a time in agony, fighting for breath, and then my brain seemed to burst in my head, and I awoke." "I have had such a dream, sire," I said, drily. "Last night?" "No," I said, "not last night." He saw what I meant, and laughed; and being by this time quite himself, left that and passed to discussing the strange affair of La Trape and the milk. "Have you found, as yet, who was good enough to supply it?" he asked. "No, sire," I answered. "But I will see La Trape, and as soon as I have learned anything, your majesty shall know it." "I suppose he is not far off now," he suggested. "Send for him. Ten to one he will have made inquiries, and it will amuse us." I went to the door and, opening it a trifle, bade the page who waited send La Trape. He passed on the message to a crowd of sleepy attendants, and quickly, but not before I had gone back to the King's bedside, La Trape entered. Having my eyes turned the other way, I did not at once remark anything. But the King did; and his look of astonishment, no less than the exclamation which accompanied it, arrested my attention. "St. Gris, man!" he cried. "What is the matter? Speak!" La Trape, who had stopped just within the door, made an effort to do so, but no sound passed his lips; while his pallor and the fixed glare of his eyes filled me with the worst apprehensions. It was impossible to look at him and not share his fright, and I stepped forward and cried out to him to speak. "Answer the King, man," I said. "What is it?" He made an effort, and with a ghastly grimace, "The cat is dead!" he said. For a moment we were all silent. Then I looked at the King, and he at me, with gloomy meaning in our eyes. He was the first to speak. "The cat to whom you gave the milk?" he said.