He had no time to say more, the count had no time to be astonished, for the folding doors were thrown open and the whole court flocked in.
Madame d'Etampes roughly seized Ascanio's hand, and drew him aside with her, as she said in his ear, in a suppressed voice, trembling with passion,—
"Now do you see, young man, how one becomes a king's plaything, and whither life sometimes leads us, in our own despite?"
She said no more. Her words were interrupted by the uproarious good humor and witty sallies of the king and courtiers.
François I. was radiant, for Charles V. was coming. There would be receptions, fêtes, surprises,—a glorious part for him to play. The whole world would have its eyes fixed upon Paris and its king. He looked forward with childish joy to the performance of the drama of which he held all the threads. It was his nature to look at everything on the brilliant rather than on the serious side, to aim more at effect than anything else, and to look upon battles as tournaments, and upon royalty as an art. With a mind well stored with strange, poetic, adventurous ideas, François I. made of his reign a theatrical performance, with the world for play-house.
On this day, as he was on the eve of dazzling a rival and Europe, his clemency and benignity were more charming than ever.
As if reassured by his smiling face, Triboulet rolled up to him just as he passed through the door.
"O Sire, Sire!" cried the fool dolefully, "I come to take my leave of you; your Majesty must make up your mind to lose me, and I weep for you more than for myself. What will become of your Majesty without poor Triboulet, whom you love so dearly?"
"What! you are going to leave me, fool, at this moment when there is but one fool for two kings?"
"Yes, Sire, at this moment, when there are two kings for one fool."