"Since you have none, dear M. Chicot, it seems to me useless to return to it." "But I had one, sire, but I was forced to destroy it, for M. de Mayenne ran after me to steal it from me." "Mayenne?" "In person." "Luckily he does not run fast. Is he still getting fatter?" "Ventre de biche! not just now, I should think." "Why not?" "Because, you understand, sire, he had the misfortune to catch me, and unfortunately got a sword wound." "And the letter?" "He had not a glimpse of it, thanks to my precautions." "Bravo! your journey is interesting; you must tell me the details. But one thing disquiets me--if the letter was destroyed for M. de Mayenne, it is also destroyed for me. How, then, shall I know what my brother Henri wrote?" "Sire, it exists in my memory." "How so?" "Sire, before destroying it I learned it by heart." "An excellent idea, M. Chicot. You will recite it to me, will you not?" "Willingly, sire." "Word for word." "Yes, sire, although I do not know the language, I have a good memory." "What language?" "Latin." "I do not understand you; was my brother Henri's letter written in Latin?" "Yes, sire." "And why?" "Ah! sire, doubtless because Latin is an audacious language--a language which may say anything, and in which Persius and Juvenal have immortalized the follies and errors of kings." "Kings?" "And of queens, sire." The king began to frown. "I mean emperors and empresses," continued Chicot. "You know Latin, M. Chicot?" "Yes and no, sire." "You are lucky if it is 'yes,' for you have an immense advantage over me, who do not know it, but you--" "They taught me to read it, sire, as well as Greek and Hebrew." "You are a living book, M. Chicot." "Your majesty has found the exact word--'a book.' They print something on my memory, they send me where they like, I arrive, I am read and understood." "Or not understood." "How so, sire?" "Why, if one does not know the language in which you are printed." "Oh, sire, kings know everything." "That is what we tell the people, and what flatterers tell us." "Then, sire, it is useless for me to recite to your majesty the letter which I learned by heart, since neither of us would understand it." "Is Latin not very much like Italian?" "So they say, sire." "And Spanish?" "I believe so." "Then let us try. I know a little Italian, and my Gascon patois is something like Spanish: perhaps I may understand Latin without ever having learned it." "Your majesty orders me to repeat it, then?" "I beg you, dear M. Chicot." Chicot began. "Frater carissime, "Sincerus amo quo te prosequebatur germanus noster Carolus Nonus, functus nuper, colet usque regiam nostram et pectori meo pertinaciter adhoeret." "If I am not mistaken," said Henri, interrupting, "they speak in this phrase of love, obstinacy, and of my brother, Charles IX." "Very likely," said Chicot; "Latin is such a beautiful language, that all that might go in one sentence." "Go on," said the king.