“Well, I’m sorry to say, Sire—” began Saint Simon.
“Ah!” cried the King, in a low angry voice. “Four days since we started, and I have been giving you lesson after lesson, and you begin at once addressing me like that. Once more, both of you, I am the Comte de la Seine, on my travels, and you, Saint Simon, are my friend, and you, Denis, my esquire. Now look here, Denis, do I look at all like a king now?”
“Not in the least, Comte.”
“And now you, Saint Simon; what have you got to say about the weather?”
“That I have been talking to the shipmaster, and he says the weather is going to be very fine—”
“That’s good,” cried the King.
”—but very windy.”
“That’s bad,” said the King—“for the poor horses,” he added hastily. “I wish we had had them fastened up below.”
As he spoke he glanced forward at where, a good distance apart, three very beautiful chargers were doubly haltered to the rail, and whinnying uneasily and pawing at the deck, and then made an uneasy gesture, for a puff of wind filled out the two big sails of the clumsy vessel and made it careen, so that the royal passenger made a snatch at a rope which was hanging loose and gave to his touch, when he made another snatch and caught at Saint Simon to save himself from falling.
“A bad, a clumsy vessel!” he cried angrily. “Here, I’m tired with our long two days’ ride. I think I’ll go into the cabin and lie down. Give me your arm, Denis.” And, steadying himself by the lad, he went below, lay down at once, and dismissed his attendant, who returned on deck, to be met by Saint Simon.