The valet went to execute the orders, which he believed to be the king’s. Henri meanwhile had passed into St. Luc’s room. He found him in bed, having prayers read to him by an old servant who had followed him to the Louvre, and shared his captivity. In a corner, on an armchair, his head buried in his hands, slept the page.
“Who is that young man?” asked the king.
“Did not your majesty authorize me to send for a page.”
“Yes, doubtless.”
“Well, I have profited by it.”
“Oh!”
“Does your majesty repent of having allowed me this little indulgence?”
“No, no, on the contrary, amuse yourself, my son. How are you?”
“Sire, I have a fever.”
“Really, your face is red; let me feel your pulse, I am half a doctor.”