“I am your physician,” replied the other, insolently.
At this answer, Louis XI. made the gesture which was customary with him when a good idea was presented to his mind; he shoved up his cap with a hasty motion.
“At such times,” continued Coyctier, “persons attend to their business while asleep. As this man is fond of hoarding, he has simply pursued his dearest habit. No doubt each of these attacks have come on after a day in which he has felt some fears about the safety of his treasure.”
“Pasques-Dieu! and such treasure!” cried the king.
“Where is it?” asked Cornelius, who, by a singular provision of nature, heard the remarks of the king and his physician, while continuing himself almost torpid with thought and the shock of this singular misfortune.
“Ha!” cried Coyctier, bursting into a diabolical, coarse laugh, “somnambulists never remember on their waking what they have done when asleep.”
“Leave us,” said the king.
When Louis XI. was alone with his silversmith, he looked at him and chuckled coldly.
“Messire Hoogworst,” he said, with a nod, “all treasures buried in France belong to the king.”
“Yes, sire, all is yours; you are the absolute master of our lives and fortunes; but, up to this moment, you have only taken what you need.”