The baron failed to reply and the King resumed:
"I do not know—not even you know—how great is my joy in discovering an antique cameo, a rare edition or an Italo-Grecian vase to add to my Iliad collection. But the exercise of power does not permit me to enjoy such pleasures tranquilly. Perhaps some day I shall enjoy reigning, but at the present time I long to seclude myself in the country, surrounded by my art collections and a few witty, erudite friends—above all, writers of verse. Those melodious youths adoring the moon from Our Lady's tower would be most entertaining if they were more deferential to the classics. I should indeed be happy in such a retreat. O how the pastoral life, eclogues and idyls allure me! I was born for the society of pagan philosophers beneath a Grecian sky and mine is a plain case of the error of Destiny. Baron, commiserate me. I am most unfortunate."
"Is Your Majesty greatly tormented by your ailments?" inquired Lecazes with aptly simulated solicitude.
"Greatly so. I suffer the pains of one condemned to torture. How I am racked! As I said before, Baron, to break stone is preferable."
Lowering his voice, he added:
"You know that one of the calumnies floating here and there for my discomfiture is that I am satirical and given to discharging arrows of cynicism, quite indiscriminately, too. They say this because I am an appreciator of Voltaire and his expose of the hypocrites of his day. I a cynic!—an unbeliever! Would that they could know what depths of faith and of tenderness are in my heart! It is not easy to be a pagan. Modern life stultifies the attempt. Behold in me an instance—"
The King suddenly ceased talking and motioned to the aged peasant outside who had not averted his piercing gaze.
"That man—"
"Yes, Your Majesty, what of that man?" answered Lecazes, with a frown. "That beggar? Does Your Majesty wish alms given him?"
"No, Baron. How does it happen that you, from whom nothing is hidden, do not know who that man is and what he wants?"