“Quite,” said the King, laughing; “but I like doing impossible things. Let me see, what’s the proper way to go to work? I have it! As a learned doctor like you. H’m, no. They’d want me to cure somebody, and I should be killing him perhaps. Here, Saint Simon, how should I disguise myself?”
“Well, Sire, if I were going to undertake the task I should dress myself like a—like a—like a—”
“Minstrel, Sire,” cried Denis excitedly, “like the English King Alfred.”
“Or Richard Coeur de Lion,” shouted Saint Simon, striving not to be beaten in the race.
“Here, hallo!” cried the King, “that won’t do! I do know better than that. It was Richard’s minstrel who went in disguise.”
“Yes, Sire,” cried Denis eagerly, while Leoni, with his eyelids nearly closed, glanced from one to the other with a look of contempt.
“That will not do,” said the King gruffly. “There is no instrument that I could play; but I must go as something.”
“Is your Majesty seriously determined to go in disguise?” said the doctor.
“Yes, old Wisdom. Now then, what do you propose?”
“I can only think of one way, Sire, and that is that I should go as what I am—a doctor—a part, I believe, that I could worthily play.”