“You are a little mad, I think, my poor comte,” said Henri.

“I am quite so, I believe.”

“Then the case is serious.”

Joyeuse sighed.

“What is it? tell me.”

Joyeuse tried to smile.  “A great king like you, sire, would not care for such confidences.”

“Yes, Henri, yes; tell me.  It will amuse me,” said the king.

“Sire, you deceive yourself; there is nothing in my grief that could amuse a noble heart like yours.”

The king took the young man’s hand.

“Do not be angry, Du Bouchage,” said he; “you know that your king also has known the griefs of an unrequited love.”

“I know it, sire, formerly.”

“Therefore, I feel for your sufferings.”

“Your majesty is too good.”

“Not so; but when I suffered what you suffer, no one could aid me, because no one was more powerful than myself, whereas I can aid you.”

“Sire?”

“And, consequently, hope soon for an end of your sorrows.”

The young man shook his head.

“Du Bouchage, you shall be happy, or I am no longer king of France!” cried Henri.

“Happy! alas, sire, it is impossible,” said the young man with a bitter smile.

“And why so?”

“Because my happiness is not of this world.”

“Henri, your brother, when he went, recommended you to my friendship.  I wish, since you consult neither the experience of your father, nor the wisdom of your brother the cardinal, to be an elder brother to you.  Come, be confiding, and tell me all.  I assure you, Du Bouchage, that for everything except death my power and love shall find you a remedy.”

“Sire,” replied the young man, falling at the king’s feet, “do not confound me by the expression of a goodness to which I cannot reply.  My misfortune is without remedy, for it is that which makes my only happiness.”

“Du Bouchage, you are mad; you will kill yourself with fancies.”

“I know it well, sire.”

“But,” cried the king, impatiently, “is it a marriage you wish for?”

“Sire, my wish is to inspire love.  You see that the whole world is powerless to aid me in this; I alone can obtain it for myself.”—­“Then why despair?”

“Because I feel that I shall never inspire it.”

“Try, try, my child; you are young and rich.  Where is the woman that can resist at once beauty, youth and wealth?  There are none, Du Bouchage.”

“Sire, your goodness is great.”

“If you wish to be discreet, and tell me nothing, do so; I will find out, and then act.  You know what I have done for your brother, I will do as much for you; a hundred thousand crowns shall not stop me.”

Du Bouchage seized the king’s hand, and pressed his lips to it.

“May your majesty ask one day for my blood, and I will shed it to the last drop to show you how grateful I am for the protection that I refuse!”