drawn sword between his legs.
“Last night,” said Henri, “I slept – ”
“And I also,” said Chicot.
“Suddenly a breath swept over my face.”
“It was the dog, who was hungry, and who licked your cream.”
“I half woke, and felt my beard bristle with terror under my mask.”
“Ah! you make me tremble deliciously.”
“Then,” continued the king, in a trembling voice, “then a voice sounded through the room, with a doleful vibration.”
“The voice of the crocodile! I have read in Marco Polo, that the crocodile has a voice like the crying of children; but be easy, my son, for if it comes, we will kill it.”
“‘Listen! miserable sinner,’ said the voice – ”
“Oh! it spoke; then it was not a crocodile.”
“‘Miserable sinner,’ said the voice, ‘I am the angel of God.’”
“The angel of God!”
“Ah! Chicot, it was a frightful voice.”
“Was it like the sound of a trumpet?”
“‘Are you there?’ continued the voice, ‘do you hear, hardened sinner; are you determined to persevere in your iniquities?’”
“Ah, really; he said very much the same as other people, it seems to me.”
“Then, Chicot, followed many other reproaches, which I assure you were most painful.”
“But tell me what he said, that I may see if he was well informed?”
“Impious! do you doubt?”
“I? all that astonishes me is, that he waited so long to reproach you. So, my son, you were dreadfully afraid?”
“Oh, yes, the marrow seemed to dry in my bones.”
“It is quite natural; on my word, I do not know what I should have done in your place. And then you called?”
“Yes.”
“And they came?”
“Yes.”
“And there was no one here?”
“No one.”
“It is frightful.”
“So frightful, that I sent for my confessor.”
“And he came?”
“Immediately.”
“Now, be frank, my son; tell the truth for once. What did he think of your revelation?”
“He shuddered.”
“I should think so.”
“He ordered me to repent, as the voice told me.”
“Very well. There can be no harm in repenting. But what did he think of the vision?”
“That it was a miracle, and that I must think of it seriously. Therefore, this morning – ”
“What have you done?”
“I gave 100,000 livres to the Jesuits.”
“Very well.”
“And scourged myself and my friends.”
“Perfect! but after?”
“Well, what do you think of it, Chicot? It is not to the jester I speak, but to the man of sense, to my friend.”
“Ah, sire, I think your majesty had the nightmare.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, it was a dream, which will not be renewed, unless your majesty thinks too much about it.”
“A dream? No, Chicot, I was awake, my eyes were open.”
“I sleep like that.”
“Yes, but then you do not see, and I saw the moon shining through my windows, and its light on the amethyst in the hilt of my sword, which lay in that chair where you are.”
“And the lamp?”
“Had gone out.”
“A dream, my son.”
“Why do you not believe, Chicot? It is said that God speaks to kings, when He wishes to effect some change on the earth.”
“Yes, he speaks, but so low that they never hear Him.”
“Well, do you know why I made you stay? – that you might hear as well as I.”
“No one would believe me if I said I heard it.”
“My friend, it is a secret which I confide to your known fidelity.”
“Well, I accept. Perhaps it will also speak to me.”
“Well, what must I do?”
“Go to bed, my son.”
“But – ”
“Do you think that sitting up will keep it away?”
“Well, then, you remain.”
“I said so.”
“Well, then, I will go to bed.”
“Good.”
“But you will not?”
“Certainly not, I will stay here.”
“You will not go to sleep?”
“Oh, that I cannot promise; sleep is like fear, my son, a thing independent of will.”
“You will try, at least?”
“Be easy; I will pinch myself. Besides, the voice would wake me.”
“Do not joke about the voice.”
“Well, well, go to bed.”
The king sighed, looked round anxiously, and glided tremblingly into bed. Then Chicot established him in his chair, arranging round him the pillows and cushions.
“How do you feel, sire?” said he.
“Pretty well; and you?”
“Very well; good night, Henri.”
“Good night, Chicot; do not go to sleep.”
“Of
