"In such a disastrous event," replied Blanche with an insinuating smile, "I shall have to console you, my darling. Why is your face so careworn? Will you not deign as much as to throw your eyes upon your wife, your humble servant?" Louis indolently turned his head towards his wife and said: "How dressed up you are!" "Does this dress please my amiable master?" inquired the Queen caressingly; but noticing that the King suddenly shivered, became gloomy and brusquely turned away his head, she added: "What is the matter, Louis?" "I do not like the color of that dress!" "I am sorry I did not know the color of orange displeased you, dear seigneur. I would have guarded against putting it on." "You were dressed in the same color on the first day of this month last year." "My memory is not as perfect as yours on the subject, my dear seigneur." "It was on the second of May of last year that I saw my father die, poisoned by my mother!" answered the King mournfully. "What a sad souvenir! How I now hate this accursed orange color, seeing it awakens such recollections in your mind!" The King remained silent; he turned on his cushions and placed his hands over his eyes. The door of the apartment was re-opened and one of the courtiers said: "Seigneur, despite all our search, we have not been able to find Yvon the Calf; he must have hidden in some corner; he shall be severely punished soon as we find him again." Louis made no answer, and Blanche motioned the courtier with an imperious gesture to retire. Left again alone, and seeing her husband more and more mentally troubled, Blanche redoubled her blandishments, seeking to provoke a return of her caresses: "Dear seigneur, your sadness afflicts me." "Your tenderness is extreme ... this morning. Quite different from usual." "My tenderness for you increases by reason of the sorrow that I see you steeped in, dear seigneur." "Oh, I lost everything with my father's death," Louis murmured despondently, and he added with concentrated fury: "That felonious bishop of Laon! Poisoner and adulterer! Infamous prelate! And my mother! my mother his accomplice! Such crimes portend the end of the world! I shall punish the guilty!" "Pray, my seigneur, do forget that dark past. What is it you said about the end of the world? It is a fable." "A fable! What! Do not the holiest bishops assert that in fourteen years the world must come to an end ... in the year 1000?" "What makes me question their assertion, Louis, is that, while announcing the end of the world, these prelates recommend to the faithful to part with their goods to the Church and to donate their domains to them." "Of what use would it be to keep perishable riches if soon everything is to perish?" "But then, dear seigneur, if everything is to perish, what is the Church to do with the goods that she is eternally demanding from the faithful?"