“Here,” cried Chicot, “the grease and the combs, I will try them too.”
“Chicot,” said Henri, “your skin is too dry, and will use too much cream, and your beard is so hard, it will break my combs. Well, my son,” said he, turning to St. Luc, “how is your head?”
St. Luc put his hand to his head and groaned.
“Imagine!” continued Henri, “I have seen Bussy d’Amboise.”
“Bussy!” cried St. Luc, trembling.
“Yes, those fools! five of them attacked him, and let him escape. If you had been there, St. Luc——”
“I should probably have been like the others.”
“Oh! no, I wager you are as good as Bussy. We will try to-morrow.”
“Sire, I am too ill for anything.”
Henri, hearing a singular noise, turned round, and saw Chicot eating up all the supper that had been brought for two.