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Chicot the Jester
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“Oh! you are better.”
“Infinitely better, sire; I feel quite joyous, and disposed for happiness and pleasure.”
“Poor St. Luc!” cried the king, clasping his hands.
“You should have asked me yesterday, sire, then I was ill and cross. I would have thrown myself into a well for a trifle. But this evening it is quite a different thing. I have passed a good night and a charming day. Mordieu, vive la joie!”
“You swear, St. Luc.”
“Did I, sire? but I think you swear sometimes.”
“I have sworn, St. Luc, but I shall swear no more.”
“I cannot say that; I will not swear more than I can help, and God is merciful.”
“You think he will pardon me?”
“Oh! I speak for myself, not for you, sire. You have sinned as a king, I as a private man, and we shall, I trust, be differently judged.”
The king sighed. “St. Luc,” said he, “will you pass the night in my room?”
“Why, what should we do?”
“We will light all the lamps, I will go to bed, and you shall read prayers to me.”
“No, thank you, sire.”
“You will not?”
“On no account.”
“You abandon me, St. Luc!”
“No, I will stay with your majesty, if you will send for music and ladies, and have a dance.”
“Oh, St. Luc, St. Luc!”
“I am wild to-night, sire, I want to dance and drink.”
“St. Luc,” said the king, solemnly, “do you ever dream?”
“Often, sire.”
“You believe in dreams?”
“With reason.”
“How so?”
“Dreams console for the reality. Last night I had a charming dream.”
“What was it?”
“I dreamed that my wife – ”
“You still think of your wife?”
“More than ever, sire; well, I dreamed that she, with her charming face – for she is pretty, sire – ”
“So was Eve, who ruined us all.”
“Well, my wife had procured wings and the form of a bird, and so, braving locks and bolts, she passed over the walls of the Louvre, and came to my window, crying, ‘Open, St. Luc, open, my husband.’”
“And you opened?”
“I should think so.”
“Worldly.”
“As you please, sire.”
“Then you woke?”
“No, indeed, the dream was too charming; and I hope to-night to dream again; therefore I refuse your majesty’s obliging offer. If I sit up, let me at least have something to pay me for losing my dream. If your majesty will do as I said – ”
“Enough, St. Luc. I trust Heaven will send you a dream to-night which will lead you to repentance.”
“I doubt it, sire, and I advise you to send away this libertine St. Luc, who is resolved not to amend.”
“No, no, I hope, before to-morrow, grace will have touched you as it has me. Good night, I will pray for you.”
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THE KING WAS AFRAID OF BEING AFRAID
When the king left St. Luc, he found the court, according to his orders, in the great gallery. Then he gave D’O, D’Epernon and Schomberg an order to retire into the provinces, threatened Quelus and Maugiron to punish them if they quarreled anymore with Bussy, to whom he gave his hand to kiss, and then embraced his brother François.
As for the queen, he was prodigal in politeness to her.
When the usual time for retiring approached, the king seemed trying to retard it. At last ten o’clock struck.
“Come with me, Chicot,” then said he, “good night, gentlemen.”
“Good night, gentlemen,” said Chicot, “we are going to bed. I want my barber, my hairdresser, my valet de chambre, and, above all, my cream.”
“No,” said the king, “I want none of them to-night; Lent is going to begin.”
“I regret the cream,” said Chicot.
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