“The tailor became a herald.”
“And the quack doctor a chancellor! Put that to my account and praise me, ingrate! for having protected you from the nobles, and for only having regard to merit.”
“That is certainly a redeeming feature.”
Just then a man appeared in the doorway with his cap in his hand.
“Who is there?” cried the King. “Is it a murderer?”
“No, it is only the gardener,” the man answered.
“Ha! ha! gardener!—your cow has calved, hasn’t she?”
“I possess no cow, sire, nor have I ever had one.”
The King was beside himself, and flew at Coctier’s throat.
“You have lied to me, scoundrel; it is not medicine you were preparing, but poison.”