"Oh! oh!" said he, tottering, "it is astonishing, sire."
The king smiled. "What is astonishing?"
"Ventre de biche! my head turns; while I sat still, it was all very well, but when I rise—"
"Bah!" said Henri, "we only tasted the wine."
"You call that tasting, sire? You are a drinker, and I do you homage, as to my superior."
"Chicot, my friend," said Henri, endeavoring to make out by one of his keen glances if Chicot were really drunk or pretending, "the best thing you can do is to go to bed."
"Yes, sire; good-night."
"Good-evening, Chicot."
"Yes, sire, you are right; the best thing Chicot can do is to go to bed." And he lay down on the floor.
Henri glanced toward the door, and then, approaching him, said, "You are so drunk, my poor Chicot, that you have taken my floor for your bed."