François. You are hard to please.
Katherine. My hero must have every virtue for his wreath, every courage for his coronet. Farewell. [Exit Lady Katherine.]
[Enter King Louis.]
King. Good afternoon, Lord Constable. Does power taste well?
François. Nobly, sire! On my knees let me thank your majesty.
King. Nonsense, man; I’m pleasing myself. You sang yourself into splendor. “If François were the king of France,” eh?
François. Sire, I will serve you as never king was served.
King. I will make you Grand Constable for a week.
François. A week, sire? A week—
King. Even so. One wonderful week, seven delirious days. The world was made in seven days. Seven days of power, seven days of splendor, seven days of love.