“Oh! no, that is needless,” said Chicot, “if you will allow me to take him with me.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
“Well! take him, and then return to the Louvre.”
“Get up, reverend father,” said Chicot.
“He mocks me,” murmured Gorenflot.
“Get up, brute,” whispered Chicot, giving him a sly kick.
“Ah! I have deserved it,” cried Gorenflot.
“What does he say?” asked the king.
“Sire, he is thinking over all his fatigues and his tortures, and when I promised him your protection, he said, ‘Oh! I have well merited that.’”