"Silence, Chicot, and you, gentlemen of the toilette, go out."

They obeyed, and the king and Chicot were left alone.

"Why do you send them away?" asked Chicot, "they have not greased
us yet. Are you going to grease me with your own royal hand? It
would be an act of humility."

"Let us pray," said Henri.

"Thank you, that is not amusing. If that be what you called me
here for, I prefer to return to the bad company I have left.
Adieu, my son. Good night."

"Stay," said the king.

"Oh! this is tyranny. You are a despot, a Phalaris, a Dionysius.
All day you have made me tear the shoulders of my friends with
cow-hide, and now we are to begin again. Do not let us do it,
Henri, when there's but two, every blow tells."

"Hold your tongue, miserable chatterer, and think of repentance."

"I repent! And of what? Of being jester to a monk. Confiteor--I
repent, mea culpa, it is a great sin."

"No sacrilege, wretch."

"Ah! I would rather he shut up in a cage with lions and apes,