“You don’t like me, doctor,” said Saint Simon, as soon as they were alone.
“I don’t dislike you,” said the other, smiling. “Have I ever treated you as an enemy?”
“No; but—”
“Hist!” whispered the doctor, as voices were heard beyond the hangings; the door fastening clicked again, and the lad appeared, carrying himself in stiff and formal fashion.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “enter. His Majesty will give you audience.”
“Both? Together?” said the doctor.
“Yes. His Majesty asked who waited. I told him, and he bade me show both in.”
“There, doctor,” said Saint Simon; “it is not my doing, so don’t visit this upon my head. I daresay he will soon send me away.”
Then, following their young escort, the two men stepped into the darkened chamber where his Majesty, heavy-eyed, as if he was hardly yet awakened from sleep, lolled back in a short fur-trimmed robe in the corner of a couch, his left hand behind his neck, his right resting upon the shaggy head of a huge boar-hound which glanced suspiciously at the new-comers and uttered a deep muttering growl.
The King’s fingers closed tightly upon the animal’s ear, and he gave it a jerk.