In any other circumstances the king would have laughed at his silversmith’s cry; but he had suddenly become thoughtful, and was casting on the Fleming those glances peculiar to men of talent and power which seem to penetrate the brain. Cornelius was frightened, thinking he had in some way offended his dangerous master.
“Devil or angel, I have him, the guilty man!” cried Louis XI. abruptly. “If you are robbed again to-night, I shall know to-morrow who did it. Make that old hag you call your sister come here,” he added.
Cornelius almost hesitated to leave the king alone in the room with his hoards; but the bitter smile on Louis’s withered lips determined him. Nevertheless he hurried back, followed by the old woman.
“Have you any flour?” demanded the king.
“Oh yes; we have laid in our stock for the winter,” she answered.
“Well, go and fetch some,” said the king.
“What do you want to do with our flour, sire?” she cried, not the least impressed by his royal majesty.
“Old fool!” said Cornelius, “go and execute the orders of our gracious master. Shall the king lack flour?”
“Our good flour!” she grumbled, as she went downstairs. “Ah! my flour!”
Then she returned, and said to the king:—