"Certainly. No harm in that."
So M. Étienne went into the tournebride and washed his face. And that was all the toilet he made for audience with the greatest king in the world.
"You'll ride to Monsieur's," he commanded me, when the captain answered:
"No; he goes with you, monsieur, if he's the boy Choux, Troux, whatever it is."
"Broux—Félix Broux!" I cried, a-quiver.
"That's it. You go to the king, too. Another luck-child."
I thought so indeed. We followed the sentry through the town in a waking dream, content to let him do with us as he would. He did the talking, explained to the grandees in the king's hall our names and errand. One of them led us up the stairs and knocked at a closed door.
"Enter!"
It was Henry's own voice. I pinched monsieur's hand to tell him. Our guide opened the door a crack.
"M. de Mar, Sire, and his servant."