“No; but I had him waiting here from midday. Far better, you know, for a painter to be kept waiting a couple of hours than the king a single minute.”
Malicorne began to laugh aloud. “Come, dear Monsieur Malicorne,” said Saint-Aignan, “laugh less at me, and speak a little more freely, I beg.”
“Well, then, monsieur le comte, if you wish the king to be a little more satisfied the next time he comes—”
“‘Ventre saint-gris!’ as his grandfather used to say; of course I wish it.”
“Well, all you have to do is, when the king comes to-morrow, to be obliged to go away on a most pressing matter of business, which cannot possibly be postponed, and stay away for twenty minutes.”
“What! leave the king alone for twenty minutes?” cried Saint-Aignan, in alarm.
“Very well, do as you like; don’t pay any attention to what I say,” said Malicorne, moving towards the door.
“Nay, nay, dear Monsieur Malicorne; on the contrary, go on—I begin to understand you. But the painter—”
“Oh! the painter must be half an hour late.”
“Half an hour—do you really think so?”