“Quiet, Tonnerre!” he said. “Can’t you see they are friends?”
Ugh! grunted the dog.
“Brute!” cried the King. “You see, gentlemen, he seeks the company of the wild boar so much that he has acquired his uncouth expressions. Well, Saint Simon, you want to see me?”
“Always, your Majesty,” said the young man lightly. “You told me to wait upon you this afternoon.”
“Did I? Well, I don’t know that I want you. But to return your compliment, the place seems dull when you are not here.”
The young man smiled and darted a triumphant glance at the saturnine-looking doctor, before turning to give Denis a look, his eyes sparkling with pleasure the while.
“And you, Leoni,” said the King, yawning. “Tut, tut!” he added impatiently. “I am hardly awake. I was tired, gentlemen. Tonnerre and his brother here led us such a race yesterday that I feel it yet. Well, Leoni, what do you want?”
“Your Majesty told me that I might come and continue our little debate of yesterday—”
“To be sure, yes,” said the King, yawning again. “Let me see; it was a sort of historical, half prophetic discourse, very learned and hard for a hunting man to understand, about the past and the future, and the safety of my throne, and its depending upon the recovery of a certain mystic stone carried off—carried off—let me see, Leoni, who did you say carried it off?”
“The enemy and invader of your country, your Majesty: Henry, the English King. But, your Majesty—” The doctor ceased speaking and turned slowly, to let his eyes rest meaningly upon the two young men in turn.