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Chicot the Jester
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“Well, sire!”
“I do not believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are agitated; you think of to-morrow.”
“I will sleep, sire, if your majesty will only let me.”
“That is just,” said Chicot.
Indeed D’Epernon undressed and got into bed, with a calm and satisfied look, that seemed, both to the king and Chicot to augur well.
“He is as brave as a Cæsar,” said the king.
“So brave that I do not understand it,” said Chicot.
“See, he sleeps already.”
Chicot approached the bed to look.
“Oh!” said he.
“What is it?”
“Look,” and he pointed to D’Epernon’s boots.
“Blood!”
“He has been walking in blood.”
“Can he be wounded?” said the king, anxiously.
“Bah! he would have told us; and, besides, unless he had been wounded like Achilles in the heel – ”
“See, the sleeve of his doublet is also spotted. What can have happened to him?”
“Perhaps he has killed some one to keep his hand in.”
“It is singular. Well, to-morrow, at least – ”
“To-day, you mean.”
“Well! to-day I shall be tranquil.”
“Why so?”
“Because those cursed Angevins will be killed.”
“You think so, Henri?”
“I am sure of it; my friends are brave.”
“I never heard that the Angevins were cowards.”
“No, doubtless; but my friends are so strong; look at Schomberg’s arm; what muscle!”
“Ah! if you saw Autragues’s! Is that all that reassures you?”
“No; come, and I will show you something.”
“Where?”
“In my room.”
“And this something makes you confident of victory?”
“Yes.”
“Come, then.”
“Wait, and let me take leave of them. Adieu, my good friends,” murmured the king, as he stooped and imprinted a light kiss on each of their foreheads.
Chicot was not superstitious, but as he looked on, his imagination pictured a living man making his adieux to the dead.
“It is singular,” thought he. “I never felt so before – poor fellows.”
As soon as the king quitted the room, D’Epernon opened his eyes; and, jumping out of bed, began to efface, as well as he could, the spots of blood on his clothes. Then he went to bed again.
As for Henri, he conducted Chicot to his room, and opened a long ebony coffer lined with white satin.
“Look!” said he.
“Swords!”
“Yes! but blessed swords, my dear friend.”
“Blessed! by whom?”
“By our holy father the Pope, who granted me this favor. To send this box to Rome and back, cost me twenty horses and four men.”
“Are they sharp?”
“Doubtless; but their great merit is that they are blessed.”
“Yes, I know that; but still I should like to be sure they are sharp.”
“Pagan!”
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Книгу прочитать не могу, везде ЛитРес свой нос сунул, как и где скачать полную версию бесплатно!?!?