"Perhaps it may not happen there—in that very street," he answered.
"And perhaps it may not happen yet," I rejoined. And then, more seriously, "Come, sire," I continued, "why this sudden weakness? I have known you face death a hundred times."
"But not after such a dream as I had last night," he said, with a grimace—yet I could see that he was already comforted. "I thought that I was passing along that street in my coach, and on a sudden, between St. Innocent's church and the notary's—there is a notary's there?"
"Yes, sire," I said, somewhat surprised.
"I heard a great roar, and something struck me down, and I found myself pinned to the ground, in darkness, with my mouth full of dust, and an immense beam on my chest. I lay for a time in agony, fighting for breath, and then my brain seemed to burst in my head, and I awoke."
"I have had such a dream, sire," I said, drily.
"Last night?"
"No," I said, "not last night."
He saw what I meant, and laughed; and being by this time quite himself, left that and passed to discussing the strange affair of La Trape and the milk. "Have you found, as yet, who was good enough to supply it?" he asked.
"No, sire," I answered. "But I will see La Trape, and as soon as I have learned anything, your majesty shall know it."