Such were the thoughts which ran through the king’s head as he bent over the rich crimson cushion which topped his prie-dieu of carved oak.  He knelt in his own enclosure to the right of the altar, with his guards and his immediate household around him, while the court, ladies and cavaliers, filled the chapel.  Piety was a fashion now, like dark overcoats and lace cravats, and no courtier was so worldly-minded as not to have had a touch of grace since the king had taken to religion.  Yet they looked very bored, these soldiers and seigneurs, yawning and blinking over the missals, while some who seemed more intent upon their devotions were really dipping into the latest romance of Scudery or Calpernedi, cunningly bound up in a sombre cover.  The ladies, indeed, were more devout, and were determined that all should see it, for each had lit a tiny taper, which she held in front of her on the plea of lighting up her missal, but really that her face might be visible to the king, and inform him that hers was a kindred spirit.  A few there may have been, here and there, whose prayers rose from their hearts, and who were there of their own free will; but the policy of Louis had changed his noblemen into courtiers and his men of the world into hypocrites, until the whole court was like one gigantic mirror which reflected his own likeness a hundredfold.

It was the habit of Louis, as he walked back from the chapel, to receive petitions or to listen to any tales of wrong which his subjects might bring to him.  His way, as he returned to his rooms, lay partly across an open space, and here it was that the suppliants were wont to assemble.  On this particular morning there were but two or three—­a Parisian, who conceived himself injured by the provost of his guild, a peasant whose cow had been torn by a huntsman’s dog, and a farmer who had had hard usage from his feudal lord.  A few questions and then a hurried order to his secretary disposed of each case, for if Louis was a tyrant himself, he had at least the merit that he insisted upon being the only one within his kingdom.  He was about to resume his way again, when an elderly man, clad in the garb of a respectable citizen, and with a strong deep-lined face which marked him as a man of character, darted forward, and threw himself down upon one knee in front of the monarch.

“Justice, sire, justice!” he cried.

“What is this, then?” asked Louis.  “Who are you, and what is it that you want?”

“I am a citizen of Paris, and I have been cruelly wronged.”

“You seem a very worthy person.  If you have indeed been wronged you shall have redress.  What have you to complain of?”

“Twenty of the Blue Dragoons of Languedoc are quartered in my house, with Captain Dalbert at their head.  They have devoured my food, stolen my property, and beaten my servants, yet the magistrates will give me no redress.’

“On my life, justice seems to be administered in a strange fashion in our city of Paris!” exclaimed the king wrathfully.