“And does your majesty, then, regard yourself to-day,” said the comte, smiling, “as the unhappiest of men?”
“No; but my love for her is an unquenchable thirst; in vain do I drink, in vain do I swallow the drops of water which your industry procures for me; the more I drink, the more unquenchable it becomes.”
“Sire, that is in some degree your own fault, and your majesty alone has made the position such as it is.”
“You are right.”
“In that case, therefore, the means to be happy, is to fancy yourself satisfied, and to wait.”
“Wait! you know that word, then?”
“There, there, sire—do not despair: I have already been at work on your behalf—I have still other resources in store.” The king shook his head in a despairing manner.
“What, sire! have you not been satisfied hitherto?”
“Oh! yes, indeed, yes, my dear Saint-Aignan; but invent, for Heaven’s sake, invent some further project yet.”
“Sire, I undertake to do my best, and that is all that any one can do.”