I scarcely knew the man; his face was flushed, his eyes sparkling as if they saw more than the common room and mean street. But as I stared the glow faded, and he said in a lower tone:
"At least, it will happen unless Henry of Navarre comes to save us from it. He is a good fellow, this Navarre."
"They say he can never enter Paris."
"They say lies. Let him but leave his heresies behind him and he can enter Paris to-morrow."
"Mayenne does not think so."
"No; but Mayenne knows little of what goes on. He does not keep an inn in the Rue Coupejarrets."
He stated the fact so gravely that I had to laugh.
"Laugh if you like; but I tell you, Félix Broux, my lord's council-chamber is not the only place where they make kings. We do it, too, we of the Rue Coupejarrets."
"Well," said I, "I leave you, then, to make kings. I must be off to my duke. What's the scot, maître?"
He dropped the politician, and was all innkeeper in a second.