"Really!—a tempest perhaps?" said Henri.
"Sire, do not joke about such things!" retorted the queen. "The stars are the written word of God."
"Well, then, we must agree," said Henri, "that the divine handwriting is generally very obscure and confused."
"How so, Sire?"
"The erasures seem to me to make the text unintelligible, so that each one may decipher it almost to suit himself. You have read, Madame, in the celestial conjuring book, as you say, that my life is threatened if I quit the Louvre?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Very well. Now, Forcatel only last month saw something very different there. You think highly of Forcatel, Madame, I believe?"
"Yes," said the queen; "he is a learned man, who has already learned to read in the book where we are just beginning to spell."
"Know, then, Madame," rejoined the king, "that Forcatel read for me in these stars of yours this beautiful verse, which has no other fault except that it is utterly unintelligible:—"
"'If this is not Mars, dread his image.'"