“At what?”
“At your chief huntsman; pardieu, he is well worth it. See how pale and dirty he is!”
Henri made a sign to M. de Monsoreau, who approached.
“How is it that you are at the Louvre, monsieur? I thought you at Vincennes.”
“Sire, the stag was turned off at seven o’clock this morning, but when noon came, and I had no news, I feared that some misfortune had happened to your majesty, and I returned.”
“Really!”
“Sire, if I have done wrong, attribute it to an excess of devotion.”
“Yes, monsieur, and I appreciate it.”
“Now,” said the count, hesitatingly, “if your majesty wishes me to return to Vincennes, as I am reassured——”
“No, no, stay; this chase was a fancy which came into our head, and which went as it came; do not go away, I want near me devoted subjects, and you have just classed yourself as such.”