“Here you are, then, Herod! pagan! Nebuchadnezzar!” cried Gorenflot, suddenly.
“Is it to me you speak, my brother?” cried the king, in surprise.
“Yes, to you. Can one accuse you of anything so bad, that it is not true?”
“My brother!”
“Bah! you have no brother here. I have long been meditating a discourse, and now you shall have it. I divide it into three heads. First, you are a tyrant; second, you are a satyr; third, you are dethroned.”
“Dethroned!”
“Neither more or less. This abbey is not like Poland, and you cannot fly.”
“Ah! a snare!”
“Oh, Valois, learn that a king is but a man.”
“You are violent, my brother.”