And they bring him his boots with the morning light;
But our Regent is never caught bare-footed so,
For his roués and he, they sit booted all night!
And they drink and they swear, and they blink and they stare—
And never a monarch of France can compare,
Neither Louis the Fat, nor yet Philip the Fair,
With this Regent of ours, so débonnaire.
Tra-la-la—tra-la-la—let us drink to him, Pierre!
Oh, yes! our Regent is débonnaire.”
“Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, he is débonnaire!” hummed the Abbé, as he mounted the wooden staircase, and stopped at the first door on the landing. “Monsieur le Duc is welcome to make all the music for our puppet dance so long as he leaves it to Monsieur l’Abbé to pull the strings.”