“Am I to have my roof?” said Coictier.
“Yes; and go to the devil, but cure me.”
Jacques Coictier bowed low and said,—
“Sire, it is a repellent which will save you. We will apply to your loins the great defensive composed of cerate, Armenian bole, white of egg, oil, and vinegar. You will continue your ptisan and we will answer for your majesty.”
A burning candle does not attract one gnat alone. Master Olivier, perceiving the king to be in a liberal mood, and judging the moment to be propitious, approached in his turn.
“Sire—”
“What is it now?” said Louis XI. “Sire, your majesty knoweth that Simon Radin is dead?”
“Well?”
“He was councillor to the king in the matter of the courts of the treasury.”
“Well?”