“Yes, but you haven’t got me!”
The wicked king did not sleep all that night, and he arose the next morning in a killing ill humor. He resolved to destroy his enemy. By his orders, they cleaned the palace from top to bottom, and particularly his bedroom; his bed was made by ten old women very skilful in the art of catching fleas. But they caught nothing, for the good flea had hidden itself under the collar of the king’s coat.
That night, this frightful tyrant, who was dying for want of sleep, lay back on both his ears, though this is said to be very difficult. But he wished to sleep double, and he knew no better way. I wish you may find a better. Scarcely had he put out his light, when he felt the flea on his neck.
“Bite! Bite!”
“Ah, zounds! What is this?”
“It is I—the flea of yesterday.”
“But what do you want, you rascal—you tiny pest?”
“I wish you to obey me, and to make your people happy.”
“Ho, there, my soldiers, my captain of the guard, my ministers, my generals! Everybody! The whole lot of you!”
The whole lot of them came in. The king was in a rage, which made everybody tremble. He found fault with all the servants of the palace. Everybody was in consternation. During this time the flea, quite calm, kept itself hid in the king’s nightcap.