“Sire,” cried the duke, “I am astonished that your majesty allows me to be interrupted so often, when I am speaking on serious matters.”
“Quite right,” said Chicot; “silence there.”
“Several millions!” repeated the king; “and against these millions, how many Huguenots are there in my kingdom?”
“Four,” said Chicot.
This new sally made the king and his friends laugh, but the duke frowned, and his gentlemen murmured loudly.
Henri, becoming once more serious, said, “Well, duke, what do you wish? To the point.”
“I wish, sire—for your popularity is dearer to me than my own—that your majesty should be superior to us in your zeal for religion—I wish you to choose a chief for the League.”
“Well!” said the king, to those who surrounded him, “what do you think of it, my friends?”
Chicot, without saying a word, drew out a lion’s skin from a corner, and threw himself on it.
“What are you doing, Chicot?” asked the king.