"I ask for nothing," said the old man with emphasis. "I come not to implore from the king either honors or riches. I am sent by God to speak to your Royal Highness certain truths, to remind you of the past and to reveal to you the future. I come not of myself. I am the obscurest laborer in France, by name Martin. I live in a village of but twelve cottages. I am a Christian. I believe in our holy religion and our holy monarchy. When evil men rebelled against God and His earthly agent, my sword remained sheathed because to shed blood is forbidden. But I placed on my breast this Heart, that men might know that with my life I would maintain my faith." "Good man, be seated," insisted the monarch. "I have too great a reverence for your person to remain otherwise than standing. I should be kneeling, for so should I choose to honor the uncle and heir of my king." "What do you mean? Am I not the king, himself?" And Louis XVIII smiled indulgently. "Your Royal Highness well knows that I am of no importance," Martin calmly replied. "My custom has been to hold my tongue, work my team and pay my rent. My life has been passed in hard and constant labor, and I have wronged no man. My arms are still strong and my head steady, so I plow my own fields. But a month since I stopped working and left home and family to expose myself to the raillery of the foolish and the contempt of the powerful. The people jest at me in the streets and your Royal Highness probably considers me demented." "My good fellow," said the king, "we always overlook much in the aged--" "Your Royal Highness, if I offend, it is because I know not the usages of courts. Consign me to punishment if I deserve it, but let me first deliver my message." "Say what you will, Martin. We listen." "'Tis not Martin who speaks. Of himself, Martin would not dare. My words are from heaven." "From heaven!" mockingly echoed, in refined irony, the admirer of Voltaire. "Perchance from God himself."