“Here,” cried Chicot, “the grease and the combs, I will try them too.”
“Chicot,” said Henri, “your skin is too dry, and will use too much cream, and your beard is so hard, it will break my combs. Well, my son,” said he, turning to St. Luc, “how is your head?”
St. Luc put his hand to his head and groaned.
“Imagine!” continued Henri, “I have seen Bussy d’Amboise.”
“Bussy!” cried St. Luc, trembling.
“Yes, those fools! five of them attacked him, and let him escape. If you had been there, St. Luc – ”
“I should probably have been like the others.”
“Oh! no, I wager you are as good as Bussy. We will try to-morrow.”
“Sire, I am too ill for anything.”
Henri, hearing a singular noise, turned round, and saw Chicot eating up all the supper that had been brought for two.
“What the devil are you doing, M. Chicot?” cried Henri.
“Taking my cream internally, since you will not allow me to do it outwardly.”
“Go and fetch my captain of the guards,” said Henri.
“What for?” asked Chicot, emptying a porcelain cup of chocolate.
“To pass his sword through your body.”
“Ah! let him come, we shall see!” cried Chicot, putting himself in such a comical attitude of defense that every one laughed.
“But I am hungry,” cried the king; “and the wretch has eaten up all the supper.”
“You are capricious, Henri; I offered you supper and you refused. However, your bouillon is left; I am no longer hungry, and I am going to bed.”
“And I also,” said St. Luc, “for I can stand no longer.”
“Stay, St. Luc,” said the king, “take these,” and he offered him a handful of little dogs.
“What for?”
“To sleep with you; they will take your illness from you.”
“Thanks, sire,” said St. Luc, putting them back in their basket, “but I have no confidence in your receipt.”
“I will come and visit you in the night, St. Luc.”
“Pray do not, sire, you will only disturb me,” and saluting the king, he went away. Chicot had already disappeared, and there only remained with the king the valets, who covered his face with a mask of fine cloth, plastered with the perfumed cream, in which were holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth; a cap of silk and silver fixed it on the forehead and ears. They next covered his arms with sleeves made of wadded silk, and then presented him with kid gloves, also greased inside.
These mysteries of the royal toilet finished, they presented to him his soup in a golden cup. Then Henri said a prayer, a short one that night, and went to bed.
When settled there, he ordered them to carry away the flowers, which were beginning to make the air sickly, and to open the window for a moment. Then the valet closed the doors and curtains, and called in Narcissus, the king’s favorite dog, who, jumping on the bed, settled himself at once on the king’s feet. The valet next put out the wax-lights, lowered the lamp, and went out softly.
Already, more tranquil and nonchalant than the lazy monks of his kingdom in their fat abbeys, the King of France no longer remembered that there was a France. – He slept.
Every noise was hushed, and one might have heard a bat fly in the somber corridors of the Louvre.
CHAPTER VII.
HOW, WITHOUT ANY ONE KNOWING WHY, THE KING WAS CONVERTED BEFORE THE NEXT DAY
Three hours passed thus.
Suddenly, a terrible cry was heard, which came from the king’s room.
All the lights in his room were out, and no sound was to be heard except this strange call of the king’s. For it was he who had cried.
Soon was heard the noise of furniture falling, porcelain breaking, steps running about the room, and the barking of dogs-mingled with new cries. Almost instantly lights burned, swords shone in the galleries, and the heavy steps of the Guards were heard.
“To arms!” cried all, “the king calls.”
And the captain of the guard, the colonel of the Swiss, and some attendants, rushed into the king’s room with flambeaux.
Near an overturned chair, broken cups, and disordered bed, stood Henri, looking terrified and grotesque in his night-dress. His right hand was extended, trembling like a leaf in the wind, and his left held his sword, which he had seized mechanically.
He appeared dumb through terror, and all the spectators, not daring to break the silence, waited with the utmost anxiety.
Then appeared, half dressed and wrapped in a large cloak, the young queen, Louise de Lorraine, blonde and gentle, who led the life of a saint upon earth, and who had been awakened by her husband’s cries.
“Sire,” cried she, also trembling, “what is the matter? Mon Dieu! I heard your cries, and I came.”
“It – it is nothing,” said the king, without moving his eyes, which seemed to be looking up the air for some form invisible to all but him.
“But your majesty cried out; is your majesty suffering?” asked the queen.
Terror was so visibly painted on the king’s countenance, that it began to gain on the others.
“Oh, sire!” cried the queen again, “in Heaven’s name do not leave us in this suspense. Will you have a doctor?”
“A doctor, no,” cried Henri, in the same tone, “the body is not ill, it is the mind; no doctor – a confessor.”
Everyone looked round; nowhere was there to be seen any traces of what had so terrified the king. However, a confessor was sent for; Joseph Foulon, superior of the convent of St. Généviève, was torn from his bed, to come to the king. With the confessor, the tumult ceased, and silence was reestablished; everyone conjectured and wondered – the king was confessing.
The next day the king rose early, and began to read prayers then he ordered all his friends to be sent for. They sent to St. Luc, but he was more suffering than ever. His sleep, or rather his lethargy, had been so profound, that he alone had heard nothing of the tumult in the night, although he slept so near. He begged to be left in bed. At this deplorable recital, Henri crossed himself, and sent him a doctor.
Then he ordered that all the scourges from the convent should be brought to him, and, going to his friends, distributed them, ordering them to scourge each other as hard as they could.
D’Epernon said that as his right arm was in a sling, and he could not return the blows he received, he ought to be exempt, but the king replied that that would only make it the more acceptable to God.
He himself set the example. He took off his doublet, waistcoat, and shirt, and struck himself like a martyr. Chicot tried to laugh, as usual, but was warned by a terrible look, that this was not the right time, and he was forced to take a scourge like the others.
All at once the king left the room, telling them to wait for him. Immediately the blows ceased, only Chicot continued to strike D’O, whom he hated, and D’O returned it as well as he could. It was a duel with whips.
The king went to the queen, gave her a pearl necklace worth 25,000 crowns, and kissed her, which he had not done for a year. Then he asked her to put off her royal ornaments and put on a sack.
Louise, always good,