The guards were doubled; laws and decrees were made; ordinances were published against all fleas; there were processions and public prayers to ask of Heaven the extermination of the flea, and sound sleep for the king. It was all of no avail. The wretched king could not lie down, even on the grass, without being attacked by his obstinate enemy, the good flea, who did not let him sleep a single minute.
“Bite! Bite!”
It would take too long to tell the many hard knocks the king gave himself in trying to crush the flea; he was covered with bruises and contusions. As he could not sleep, he wandered about like an uneasy spirit. He grew thinner. He would certainly have died if, at last, he had not made up his mind to obey the good flea.
“I surrender,” he said at last, when it began to bite him again. “I ask for quarter. I will do what you wish.”
“So much the better. On that condition only shall you sleep,” replied the flea.
“Thank you. What must I do?”
“Make your people happy!”
“I have never learned how. I do not know how——”
“Nothing more easy: you have only to go away.”
“Taking my treasures with me?”