Chicot entered Nerac in the evening, just at the time of the promenades which occupied the king so much. Chicot could see the simplicity of the royal manners by the ease with which he obtained an audience. A valet opened the door of a rustic-looking apartment bordered with flowers, above which was the king's antechamber and sitting-room. An officer or page ran to find the king, wherever he might be when any one wished for an audience, and he always came at the first invitation. Chicot was pleased with this; he judged the king to be open and candid, and he thought so still more when he saw the king coming up a winding walk bordered with laurels and roses, an old hat on his head, and dressed in a dark green doublet and gray boots, and with a cup and ball in his hand. He looked gay and happy, as though care never came near him.
"Who wants me?" said he to the page.
"A man who looks to me half courtier, half soldier."
Chicot heard these words, and advanced.
"It is I, sire."
"What! M. Chicot in Navarre! Ventre St. Gris! welcome, dear M. Chicot!"
"A thousand thanks, sire."
"Quite well? Ah, parbleu! we will drink together, I am quite delighted. Chicot, sit down there." And he pointed to a grass bank.
"Oh no, sire!"
"Have you come 200 leagues for me to leave you standing? No, no; sit down; one cannot talk standing."