“Ah!” said Chicot to the king, “the voice seems to be friendly to the house of Cossé.”
“And you must make him a duke, to recompense him for his forced stay.”
“Peste!” said Chicot; “the angel is much interested for M. de St. Luc.”
“Oh!” cried the king, without listening, “this voice from on high will kill me.”
“Voice from the side, you mean,” said Chicot.
“How! a voice from the side?”
“Yes; can you not hear that the voice comes from that wall, Henri?—the angel lodges in the Louvre.”
“Blasphemer!”
“Why, it is honorable for you; but you do not seem to recognize it. Go and visit him; he is only separated from you by that partition.”
A ray of the moon falling on Chicot’s face, showed it to the king so laughing and amused, that he said, “What! you dare to laugh?”