“Pooh! Adventures.”
“And adventures,” said Leoni—“and may meet with injuries, suffer in your health. Would it not be wise to have the leech in your train?”
“My faith, no!” cried the monarch. “I know you of old, my plotting, scheming friend. You would be having me ill, stretched upon a pallet, within a week, and then it is the doctor who becomes the King. I think we three can manage without your help; but I won’t be forgetful of old services, and I’ll trust you in this. There is no such scribe about the Court as you, so you shall keep a chronicle of everything that happens here while the cat’s away, and read the record of the sporting of my mice to me on my return. I can trust you to see twice as much as any other man about the Court, in your double-sighted way.”
“Double-sighted suggests duplicity, Sire,” said the doctor.
“No, no; I don’t mean that,” cried the King, “and you know it. If I thought that you were guilty of duplicity, Leoni, do you think that I should trust you as I do? There,” he continued impatiently, “don’t look at me like that, man. It worries me.”
“It is my misfortune, Sire, not my intention.”
“Of course. I know; I know. But you look sometimes as if you were keeping me in conversation with one eye, while the other was seeking how to take me at a disadvantage.”
“That’s what people about the Court say, Sire,” said the doctor, with a grim smile.
“Yes, I know,” replied the King. “I have heard Saint Simon say so. I shouldn’t have thought of it myself. But it is quite right, all the same.”
“In appearance, Sire; but it is not true.”