and amuse yourself a little, poor king."

"You are right, Chicot, I will dance."

"Decidedly," thought De Brissac, "I was wrong to think the king
angry; he is in an excellent humor."

Meanwhile St. Luc had approached his wife. She was not a beauty,
but she had fine black eyes, white teeth, and a dazzling complexion.

"Monsieur," said she to her husband, "why did they say that the
king was angry with me; he has done nothing but smile on me ever
since he came?"

"You did not say so after dinner, dear Jeanne, for his look then
frightened you."

"His majesty was, doubtless, out of humor then, but now--"

"Now, it is far worse; he smiles with closed lips. I would rather
he showed me his teeth. Jeanne, my poor child, he is preparing
for us some disagreeable surprise. Oh I do not look at me so
tenderly, I beg; turn your back to me. Here is Maugiron coming;
converse with him, and be amiable to him."

"That is a strange recommendation, monsieur."

But St. Luc left his wife full of astonishment, and went to pay
his court to Chicot, who was playing his part with a most laughable
majesty.