"Lavalette," cried Henri, "you make me sad; you who are so clever, and could so easily make me joyful. It is not your nature to fight continually, like my old favorites; but you are facetious and amusing, and give good counsel. You know all my affairs, like that other more humble friend, with whom I never experienced a moment's ennui."
"Of whom does your majesty speak?"
"Of my poor jester, Chicot. Alas! where is he?"
D'Epernon rose, piqued. "Your majesty's souvenirs, to-day, are not very amusing for other people," said he.
"Why so?"
"Your majesty, without intending it, perhaps, compared me to Chicot, which is not very flattering."
"You are wrong, D'Epernon; I could only compare to Chicot a man who loves me, and whom I love."
"It was not to resemble Chicot, I suppose, that your majesty made me a duke?"
"Chicot loved me, and I miss him; that is all I can say. Oh! when I think that in the same place where you now are have been all those young men, handsome, brave, and faithful—that there, on that very chair on which you have placed your hat, Chicot has slept more than a hundred times—"
"Perhaps that was very amusing," interrupted the duke, "but certainly not very respectful."