This thought brought to his mind the other devoted swords that he regretted so bitterly. He became sad again, and inquired for Joyeuse. They replied that he had not returned. "Then call my valets-de-chambre." When he was in bed, they asked if his reader should attend, for Henri was subject to long fits of wakefulness, and was often read to sleep. "No," replied the king, "I want no one; only if M. de Joyeuse returns, bring him to me." "If he returns late, sire?" "Alas! he is always late; but whatever be the hour, bring him here." The servants extinguished the candles and lighted a lamp of essences, which gave a pale blue flame, that the king liked. Henri was tired, and soon slept, but not for long; he awoke, thinking he heard a noise in the room. "Joyeuse," he asked; "is it you?" No one replied. The light burned dim, and only threw faint circles on the ceiling of carved oak. "Alone, still!" murmured the king. "Mon Dieu! I am alone all my life, as I shall be after death." "'Alone after death'; that is not certain," said a powerful voice near the bed. The king started up and looked round him in terror. "I know that voice," cried he. "Ah! that is lucky," replied the voice. "It is like the voice of Chicot." "You burn, Henri: you burn." Then the king, getting half out of bed, saw a man sitting in the very chair which he had pointed out to D'Epernon. "Heaven protect me!" cried he; "it is the shade of Chicot." "Ah! my poor Henriquet, are you still so foolish?" "What do you mean?" "That shades cannot speak, having no body, and consequently no tongue." "Then you are Chicot, himself?" cried the king, joyfully. "Do not be too sure." "Then you are not dead, my poor Chicot?" "On the contrary; I am dead." "Chicot, my only friend." "You, at least, are not changed." "But you, Chicot, are you changed?" "I hope so." "Chicot, my friend, why did you leave me?" "Because I am dead." "You said just now that you were not dead." "Dead to some--alive to others." "And to me?"--"Dead." "Why dead to me?" "It is easy to comprehend that you are not the master here." "How?" "You can do nothing for those who serve you." "Chicot!" "Do not be angry, or I shall be so, also." "Speak then, my friend," said the king, fearful that Chicot would vanish. "Well, I had a little affair to settle with M. de Mayenne, you remember?" "Perfectly." "I settled it; I beat this valiant captain without mercy. He sought for me to hang me; and you, whom I thought would protect me, abandoned me, and made peace with him. Then I declared myself dead and buried by the aid of my friend Gorenflot, so that M. de Mayenne has ceased to search for me." "What a frightful courage you had, Chicot; did you not know the grief your death would cause me?" "I have never lived so tranquilly as since the world thought me dead." "Chicot, my head turns; you frighten me--I know not what to think." "Well! settle something." "I think that you are dead and--"