“You should have asked me yesterday, sire, then I was ill and cross. I would have thrown myself into a well for a trifle. But this evening it is quite a different thing. I have passed a good night and a charming day. Mordieu, vive la joie!”
“You swear, St. Luc.”
“Did I, sire? but I think you swear sometimes.”
“I have sworn, St. Luc, but I shall swear no more.”
“I cannot say that; I will not swear more than I can help, and God is merciful.”
“You think he will pardon me?”
“Oh! I speak for myself, not for you, sire. You have sinned as a king, I as a private man, and we shall, I trust, be differently judged.”
The king sighed. “St. Luc,” said he, “will you pass the night in my room?”
“Why, what should we do?”
“We will light all the lamps, I will go to bed, and you shall read prayers to me.”