'I care not—for every lover she has, I could easily reckon ten, were I not devoted to your Majesty.'
'Thank you—but you forget your game.'
'Ah! sire—a woman forgets the universe itself, when he whom she truly loves is present.'
'Thou flatterest me, Clara,' said the poor silly King, trembling with pleasure, and in turn playing the deuce with his game.
'And now I have two or three pretty little requests to make.'
'Peste! I thought so. Did not the jewels I sent by M. Boizenval satisfy you?'
'Oh! sire, my letter of thanks expressed all I felt—but you mean not to grudge them to your Clara?'
'No—no!—and this request—'
'Monseigneur—(I did not catch the name) departed to the company of the saints yesterday, and has left a fine estate, the baton of a marshal of France, the cross of Saint Esprit, and a regiment of dragoons behind him.'
'Well,' said the King, wincing, and making a grimace; ''tis fortunate that he could not take them all to heaven with him, as I wanted them sorely.'