The king started up and looked round him in terror. "I know that voice," cried he.
"Ah! that is lucky," replied the voice.
"It is like the voice of Chicot."
"You burn, Henri: you burn."
Then the king, getting half out of bed, saw a man sitting in the very chair which he had pointed out to D'Epernon.
"Heaven protect me!" cried he; "it is the shade of Chicot."
"Ah! my poor Henriquet, are you still so foolish?"
"What do you mean?"
"That shades cannot speak, having no body, and consequently no tongue."
"Then you are Chicot, himself?" cried the king, joyfully.