“You hear, gentlemen, what my brother says. But we will talk of him another time; now I recommend my brother to your care; you will have the honor of serving as guard to a prince of the blood.”
“Oh! sire,” said Quelus, “be satisfied; we know what we owe to M. le Duc.”
“It is well; adieu, gentlemen.”
“Sire,” cried the duke, “am I really a prisoner, are my friends not to visit me, and am I not to go out?” And the idea of the next day presented itself to his mind, when his presence would be so necessary to M. de Guise. “Sire,” cried he again, “let me at least remain near your majesty; it is my place, and I can be as well guarded there as elsewhere. Sire, grant me this favor.”
The king was about to yield to this request and say, “Yes,” when his attention was attracted to the door, where a long body, with its arms, its head, and everything that it could move, was making signs to him to say “No.” It was Chicot.
“No,” said Henri to his brother; “you are very well here, and here you must stay.”
“Sire——”
“It is my pleasure, and that is enough,” said the king, haughtily.
“I said I was the real King of France,” murmured Chicot.