That beautiful and divine lantern with burns so much oil and lights the world—­a lantern adorned with the most lovely baubles, flaming, brilliantly, which he thought more lovely than all the others, because he had lost sight of it for so long a time that it appeared quite new to him; but the size of the hole prevented him seeing anything else except the hand of a man, which modestly covered the lantern, and he heard the voice of Montsoreau saying—­

“How’s the little treasure, this morning?” A playful expression, which lovers used jokingly, because this lantern is in all countries the sun of love, and for this the prettiest possible names are bestowed upon it, whilst comparing it to the loveliest things in nature, such as my pomegranate, my rose, my little shell, my hedgehog, my gulf of love, my treasure, my master, my little one; some even dared most heretically to say, my god!  If you don’t believe it, ask your friends.

At this moment the lady let him understand by a gesture that the king was there.

“Can he hear?” said the queen.

“Yes.”

“Can he see?”

“Yes.”

“Who brought him?”

“Pezare.”

“Fetch the physician, and get Gauttier into his own room.” said the queen.

In less time than it takes a beggar to say “God bless you, sir!” the queen had swathed the lantern in linen and paint, so that you would have thought it a hideous wound in a state of grievous inflammation.  When the king, enraged by what he overheard, burst open the door, he found the queen lying on the bed exactly as he has seen her through the hole, and the physician, examining the lantern swathed in bandages, and saying, “How it is the little treasure, this morning?” in exactly the same voice as the king had heard.  A jocular and cheerful expression, because physicians and surgeons use cheerful words with ladies and treat this sweet flower with flowery phrases.  This sight made the king look as foolish as a fox caught in a trap.  The queen sprang up, reddening with shame, and asking what man dared to intrude upon her privacy at such a moment, but perceiving the king, she said to him as follows:—­

“Ah! my lord, you have discovered that which I have endeavoured to conceal from you:  that I am so badly treated by you that I am afflicted with a burning ailment, of which my dignity would not allow me to complain, but which needs secret dressing in order to assuage the influence of the vital forces.  To save my honour and your own, I am compelled to come to my good Lady Miraflor, who consoles me in my troubles.”