"Oh, St. Luc, St. Luc!"

"I am wild to-night, sire, I want to dance and drink."

"St. Luc," said the king, solemnly, "do you ever dream?"

"Often, sire."

"You believe in dreams?"

"With reason."

"How so?"

"Dreams console for the reality. Last night I had a charming dream."

"What was it?"

"I dreamed that my wife----"

"You still think of your wife?"

"More than ever, sire; well, I dreamed that she, with her charming
face--for she is pretty, sire----"

"So was Eve, who ruined us all."

"Well, my wife had procured wings and the form of a bird, and
so, braving locks and bolts, she passed over the walls of the
Louvre, and came to my window, crying, 'Open, St. Luc, open,