“Lampreys are not good for you,” replied the physician.

That title, recently substituted for the former term of “myrrh-master,” is still applied to the faculty in England.  The name was at this period given to doctors everywhere.

“Then what may I eat?” asked the king, humbly.

“Salt mackerel.  Otherwise, you have so much bile in motion that you may die on All-Souls’ Day.”

“To-day!” cried the king in terror.

“Compose yourself, sire,” replied Coyctier.  “I am here.  Try not to fret your mind; find some way to amuse yourself.”

“Ah!” said the king, “my daughter Marie used to succeed in that difficult business.”

As he spoke, Imbert de Bastarnay, sire of Montresor and Bridore, rapped softly on the royal door.  On receiving the king’s permission he entered and announced the Comte and Comtesse de Saint-Vallier.  Louis XI. made a sign.  Marie appeared, followed by her old husband, who allowed her to pass in first.

“Good-day, my children,” said the king.

“Sire,” replied his daughter in a low voice, as she embraced him, “I want to speak to you in secret.”

Louis XI. appeared not to have heard her.  He turned to the door and called out in a hollow voice, “Hola, Dufou!”

Dufou, seigneur of Montbazon and grand cup-bearer of France, entered in haste.

“Go to the maitre d’hotel, and tell him I must have salt mackerel for dinner.  And go to Madame de Beaujeu, and let her know that I wish to dine alone to-day.  Do you know, madame,” continued the king, pretending to be slightly angry, “that you neglect me?  It is almost three years since I have seen you.  Come, come here, my pretty,” he added, sitting down and holding out his arms to her.  “How thin you have grown!  Why have you let her grow so thin?” said the king, roughly, addressing the Comte de Poitiers.

The jealous husband cast so frightened a look at his wife that she almost pitied him.

“Happiness, sire!” he stammered.

“Ah! you love each other too much,—­is that it?” said the king, holding his daughter between his knees.  “I did right to call you Mary-full-of-grace.  Coyctier, leave us!  Now, then, what do you want of me?” he said to his daughter the moment the doctor had gone.  “After sending me your—­”

In this danger, Marie boldly put her hand on the king’s lips and said in his ear,—­

“I always thought you cautious and penetrating.”

“Saint-Vallier,” said the king, laughing, “I think that Bridore has something to say to you.”

The count left the room; but he made a gesture with his shoulders well known to his wife, who could guess the thoughts of the jealous man, and knew she must forestall his cruel designs.

“Tell me, my child, how do you think I am,—­hey?  Do I seem changed to you?”

“Sire, do you want me to tell you the real truth, or would you rather I deceived you?”