“Do not reply to them, Aurilly,” said François, “it cannot be addressed to me.” As he spoke the king appeared on the threshold. The duke rose. “Sire,” cried he, “I appeal against the unworthy treatment I meet with from your followers.”
Henri did not seem to hear. “Good morning, Quelus,” said he kissing his favorite on both cheeks; “good morning, the sight of you rejoices my soul, and you, my poor Maugiron, how are you?”
“I am terribly ennuyé, sire; when I undertook to guard your brother, I thought he was more amusing. Oh I the tiresome prince; are you sure he is the son of your father and mother?”
“Sire! you hear,” cried the prince, “is it your wish that your brother should be insulted?”
“Silence, monsieur,” said Henri, “I do not like my prisoners to complain.”
“Prisoner, or not, I am your——”
“The title which you are about to invoke,” interrupted the king, “is fatal to you. My brother guilty, is doubly guilty.”
“But if he is not?”
“He is.”
“Of what crime?”