“And when will that be?”

“In an hour.”

Joyeuse bowed and turned to the door.  The king’s heart misgave him.  “What!” cried he, “not even the courtesy of an adieu?  You are not polite, but that is a common reproach to naval people.”

“Pardon me, sire, but I am a still worse courtier than I am a seaman;” and shutting the door violently, he went out.

“See how those love me, for whom I have done so much,” cried the king; “ungrateful Joyeuse!”

“Well, are you going to recall him?” said Chicot, advancing.  “Because, for once in your life, you have been firm, you repent it.”

“Ah! so you think it very agreeable to go to sea in the month of October?  I should like to see you do it.”

“You are quite welcome to do so; my greatest desire just now is to travel.”

“Then if I wish to send you somewhere you will not object to go?”

“Not only I do not object, but I request it.”

“On a mission?”

“Yes.”

“Will you go to Navarre?”

“I would go to the devil.”

“You are joking.”

“No; since my death I joke no more.”

“But you refused just now to quit Paris.”

“I was wrong, and I repent.  I will go to Navarre, if you will send me.”

“Doubtless; I wish it.”

“I wait your orders, gracious prince,” said Chicot, assuming the same attitude as Joyeuse.

“But you do not know if the mission will suit you.  I have certain projects of embroiling Margot with her husband.”

“Divide to reign was the A B C of politics one hundred years ago.”

“Then you have no repugnance?”

“It does not concern me; do as you wish.  I am ambassador, that is all; and as long as I am inviolable, that is all I care for.”

“But now you must know what to say to my brother-in-law.”

“I say anything!  Certainly not.”

“Not?”

“I will go where you like, but I will say nothing.”

“Then you refuse?”

“I refuse to give a message, but I will take a letter.”

“Well, I will give you a letter.”

“Give it me, then.”

“What! you do not think such a letter can be written at once.  It must be well weighed and considered.”

“Well, then, think over it.  I will come or send for it early to-morrow.”

“Why not sleep here?”

“Here?”

“Yes, in your chair.”

“I sleep no more at the Louvre.”

“But you must know my intentions concerning Margot and her husband.  My letter will make a noise, and they will question you; you must be able to reply.”

“Mon Dieu!” said Chicot, shrugging his shoulders, “how obtuse you are, great king.  Do you think I am going to carry a letter a hundred and fifty leagues without knowing what is in it?  Be easy, the first halt I make I shall open your letter and read it.  What! have you sent ambassadors for ten years to all parts of the world, and know no better than that?  Come, rest in peace, and I will return to my solitude.”