“Ah!  I like that reason, and it is admirably argued.  This is the explanation of my situation?”

“Complete.”

“And I, who did not see all this, and went on hoping.”

“Well, sire, I counsel you to cease to hope.”

“Then I must do for this debt what I do for those of my farmers who cannot pay their rent; I put a P against their names.”

“Which means paid.”

“Just so.”

“Put two P’s, sire, and give a sigh.”

“So be it, Chicot; you see I can live in Bearn, even without Cahors.”

“I see that, and also that you are a wise and philosophical king.  But what is that noise?”

“Noise, where?”

“In the courtyard, I think.”

“Look out of the window.”

“Sire, there are below a dozen of poorly-clothed people.”

“Ah! they are my poor,” said the king, rising.

“Your majesty has poor?”

“Doubtless; does not God recommend charity?  If I am not a Catholic,
Chicot, I am a Christian.”

“Bravo, sire!”

“Come, Chicot, we will give alms together, and then go to supper.”

“Sire, I follow you.”

“Take that purse lying on the table, near my sword—­do you see?”

They went down, but Henri seemed thoughtful and preoccupied.  Chicot looked at him, and thought, “What the devil made me talk politics to this brave prince, and make him sad?  Fool that I was!”

Once in the court, Henri approached the group of mendicants.  There were a dozen men in different costumes.  Henri took the purse from the hands of Chicot and made a sign, and then each man came forward and saluted Henri with an air of humility, which did not preclude a glance full of intelligence at the king.  Henri replied by a motion of the head; then, putting his fingers into the purse, which Chicot held open, he took out a piece.

“Do you know that it is gold, sire?” said Chicot.

“Yes, my friend, I know.”

“Peste! you are rich.”

“Do you not see that each of these pieces serves for two?  On the contrary, I am so poor that I am forced to cut my gold in two.”

“It is true,” said Chicot, with surprise:  “they are half-pieces, with fantastic designs.”

“Oh, I am like my brother Henri, who amuses himself in cutting out images:  I amuse myself with clipping my ducats.”

“Nevertheless, sire, it is an odd method of giving charity,” said Chicot, who divined some hidden mystery.

“What would you do?”

“Instead of cutting the gold, I would give one piece between two.”

“They would fight, and I should do harm instead of good."’

Henry then took one of the pieces, and, placing himself before the first beggar, looked at him inquiringly.

“Agen,” said the man.

“How many?” asked Henri.

“Five hundred.”

“Cahors;” and he gave him the piece and took a second.