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Chicot the Jester
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“Home.”
“Well! take him, and then return to the Louvre.”
“Get up, reverend father,” said Chicot.
“He mocks me,” murmured Gorenflot.
“Get up, brute,” whispered Chicot, giving him a sly kick.
“Ah! I have deserved it,” cried Gorenflot.
“What does he say?” asked the king.
“Sire, he is thinking over all his fatigues and his tortures, and when I promised him your protection, he said, ‘Oh! I have well merited that.’”
“Poor devil!” said the king, “take good care of him.”
“Oh! be easy, sire, he will want for nothing with me.”
“Oh! M. Chicot, dear M. Chicot,” cried Gorenflot, “where am I to be taken to?”
“You will know soon. Meanwhile, monster of iniquity, thank his majesty.”
“What for?”
“Thank him, I tell you.”
“Sire,” stammered Gorenflot, “since your gracious majesty – ”
“Yes,” interrupted Henri, “I know all you did for me, in your journey from Lyons, on the evening of the League, and again to-day. Be easy, you shall be recompensed according to your merits.”
Gorenflot sighed.
“Where is Panurge?” said Chicot.
“In the stable, poor beast.”
“Well! go and fetch him, and return to me.”
“Yes, M. Chicot.”
And the monk went away as fast as he could, much astonished not to be followed by guards.
“Now, my son,” said Chicot, “keep twenty men for your own escort, and send ten with M. Crillon to the Hôtel d’Anjou and let them bring your-brother here.”
“Why?”
“That he may not escape a second time.”
“Did my brother – ”
“Have you repented following my advice to-day?”
“No, par le mordieu.”
“Then do what I tell you.”
Henri gave the order to Crillon, who set off at once.
“And you?” said Henri.
“Oh! I am waiting for my saint.”
“And you will rejoin me at the Louvre?”
“In an hour; go, my son.”
Henri went; and Chicot, proceeding to the stables, met Gorenflot coming out on his ass. The poor devil had not an idea of endeavoring to escape from the fate that he thought awaited him.
“Come, come,” said Chicot, “we are waited for.” Gorenflot made no resistance, but he shed many tears.
CHAPTER XCIII.
WHERE CHICOT GUESSES WHY D’EPERNON HAD BLOOD ON HIS FEET AND NONE IN HIS CHEEKS
The king, returning to the Louvre, found his friends peacefully asleep, except D’Epernon, whose bed was empty.
“Not come in yet; how imprudent,” murmured the king to Chicot, who had also returned, and was standing with them by their beds. “The fool; having to fight to-morrow with a man like Bussy, and to take no more care than this. Let them seek M. d’Epernon,” said he, going out of the room, and speaking to an usher.
“M. d’Epernon is just coming in, sire,” replied the man.
Indeed, D’Epernon came softly along, thinking to glide unperceived to his room.
On seeing the king he looked confused.
“Ah! here you are at last,” said Henri; “come here and look at your friends. They are wise! they understand the importance of the duel to-morrow; but you, instead of praying and sleeping like them, have been running about the streets. Corbleu; how pale you are! What will you look like to-morrow?”
D’Epernon was indeed pale, but at the king’s remark he colored.
“Now go to bed,” continued Henri, “and sleep if you can.”
“Why not?”
“Much time you will have. You are to fight at daybreak; and at this time of year the sun rises at four. It is now two; you have but two hours to sleep.”
“Two hours well employed go a long way.”
“You will sleep, then?”
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Книгу прочитать не могу, везде ЛитРес свой нос сунул, как и где скачать полную версию бесплатно!?!?