“And when am I to set out, sire?”
“Immediately.”
“Henri, Henri!” whispered Chicot; but, in spite of his signs and grimaces, the king gave the duke his brevet ready signed. He took it and retired, and was soon out of Paris. The rest of the assembly dispersed gradually, crying, “Vive le Roi! and Vive la Ligue!”
“Oh, sire!” cried the favorites, approaching the king, “what a sublime idea you have had!”
“They think that gold is going to rain on them like manna,” said Chicot, who followed his master about everywhere with lamentations. As soon as they were left alone, “Ah! M. Chicot!” said Henri, “you are never content. Diable! I do not ask even for complaisance, but for good sense.”
“You are right, Henri; it is what you want most.”
“Confess I have done well.”
“That is just what I do not think.”
“Ah! you are jealous, M. Roi de France.”
“I! Heaven forbid. I shall choose better subjects for jealousy.”