"I dispute that; but at least your brother has."—"Immense, sire."
"He has saved the army, you say, or rather, its remnants?"
"There is not a man left who does not say that he owes his life to my brother."
"Well! Du Bouchage, my will is to extend my benefits to both, and I only imitate in that Him who made you both rich, brave, and handsome; besides, I should imitate those great politicians who always rewarded the bearers of bad news."
"Oh!" said Chicot, "I have known men hung for bringing bad news."
"That is possible," said the king; "but remember the senate that thanked Varron."
"You cite republicans, Valois; misfortune makes you humble."
"Come, Du Bouchage, what will you have—what would you like?"
"Since your majesty does me the honor to speak to me so kindly, I will dare to profit by your goodness. I am tired of life, sire, and yet have a repugnance to shortening it myself, for God forbids it, and all the subterfuges that a man of honor employs in such a case are mortal sins. To get one's self killed in battle or to let one's self die of hunger are only different forms of suicide. I renounce the idea, therefore, of dying before the term which God has fixed for my life, and yet the world fatigues me, and I must leave it."
"My friend!" said the king.