“What the devil are you doing, M. Chicot?” cried Henri.
“Taking my cream internally, since you will not allow me to do it outwardly.”
“Go and fetch my captain of the guards,” said Henri.
“What for?” asked Chicot, emptying a porcelain cup of chocolate.
“To pass his sword through your body.”
“Ah! let him come, we shall see!” cried Chicot, putting himself in such a comical attitude of defense that every one laughed.
“But I am hungry,” cried the king; “and the wretch has eaten up all the supper.”
“You are capricious, Henri; I offered you supper and you refused. However, your bouillon is left; I am no longer hungry, and I am going to bed.”
“And I also,” said St. Luc, “for I can stand no longer.”
“Stay, St. Luc,” said the king, “take these,” and he offered him a handful of little dogs.