“Sire, I am no longer thirsty,” said Chicot, who had given up all hopes of seeing the king take too much.

“Then, I will leave you; a man should not stay at table when he does nothing.  Drink, I tell you.”

“Why, sire?”

“To sleep better.  Do you like the chase, Chicot?”

“Not much, sire; and you?”

“Passionately; since I lived at the court of Charles IX.”

“Why did your majesty do me the honor to ask me?”

“Because I hunt to-morrow, and thought to take you with me.”

“Sire, it would be a great honor, but—­”

“Oh! this chase will rejoice all eyes; besides, I am a good hunter, and I wish you to see me to advantage.”

“Sire, I am at your orders.”

“Good! then it is settled.  Ah! here is a page to disturb us.”

“Some important business, sire?”

“Business at table!  You think you are still at the court of France, my dear Chicot.  Learn one thing; at Nerac, when we have supped, we go to bed.”

“But this page?”

“Well, cannot he come for anything but business?”

“Ah!  I understand:  and I will go to bed.”

Chicot rose; the king did the same, and took his arm.  This haste to send him away appeared suspicious to Chicot, and he determined not to leave the room if he could help it.

“Oh! oh!” said he, tottering, “it is astonishing, sire.”

The king smiled.  “What is astonishing?”

“Ventre de biche! my head turns; while I sat still, it was all very well, but when I rise—­”

“Bah!” said Henri, “we only tasted the wine.”

“You call that tasting, sire?  You are a drinker, and I do you homage, as to my superior.”

“Chicot, my friend,” said Henri, endeavoring to make out by one of his keen glances if Chicot were really drunk or pretending, “the best thing you can do is to go to bed.”

“Yes, sire; good-night.”

“Good-evening, Chicot.”

“Yes, sire, you are right; the best thing Chicot can do is to go to bed.”  And he lay down on the floor.

Henri glanced toward the door, and then, approaching him, said, “You are so drunk, my poor Chicot, that you have taken my floor for your bed.”

“Chicot does not mind little things.”

“But I expect some one.”

“For supper; yes, let us sup—­” And Chicot made a fruitless effort to rise.

“Ventre St. Gris! how quickly you get drunk.  But go along, mordieu! she is getting impatient.”

“She, who?”

“The lady I expect.”

“A lady; why did you not say, Henriquet?  Ah! pardon, I thought I was speaking—­to the king of France.  He has spoiled me, that good Henriquet.  Ah!  I will go.”

“You are a gentleman, Chicot.  Now go quickly.”

“Adieu, sire; a good night to you.”

“Adieu! and sleep well.  You will find the page in the gallery, who will show you your room.”