Planting himself finally in front of Tito, as if to banish his fear, he asked him with feigned calmness,
“Well, owl-face! who the devil are you?”
“I am the Friend of Death,” answered Tito, with a steady, quiet look.
“Who is the friend of all sinners,” gayly added the king, as if to ward off his puerile fear. “And what have you to say of our son?”
“I say,” said Tito, taking a step toward the king, who involuntarily retreated, “that I bring you a crown; I do not say whether it is that of Spain or of France, as that is the secret for which you must pay me. I also say that we are losing precious time, and that consequently I must speak to you soon and clearly. Listen to me, therefore, with attention. Louis I. is dying. Nevertheless his sickness is not incurable. Your Majesty is the dog in the manger.”
Philip interrupted him.
“Speak! Say what you wish; I desire to hear it all. In any case I propose to have you hanged.”
The Friend of Death, shrugging his shoulders, continued:
“I likened your Majesty to the dog in the manger. You had the crown of Spain upon your head: you dropped it, to seize that of France, and it fell upon the cradle of your son; Louis XV. secured his own and now you are left with neither.”