The Forty-Five Guardsmen. Dumas Alexandre
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like Salcede was a good servant, sire."
"Well?"
"And the master who has such followers is fortunate."
"You mean to say that I have none such; or, rather, that I no longer have them. You are right, if that be what you mean."
"I did not mean that; your majesty would find, I am sure, were there occasion, followers as devoted as Salcede."
"Well, duke, do not look gloomy; I am sad enough already. Do be gay."
"Gayety cannot be forced, sire."
The king struck the table angrily. "You are a bad friend," said he; "I lost all, when I lost my former ones."
"May I dare to say to your majesty that you hardly encourage the new ones."
The king looked at him with an expression which he well understood.
"Ah! your majesty reproaches me with your benefits," said he, "but I do not reproach you with my devotion."
"Lavalette," cried Henri, "you make me sad; you who are so clever, and could so easily make me joyful. It is not your nature to fight continually, like my old favorites; but you are facetious and amusing, and give good counsel. You know all my affairs, like that other more humble friend, with whom I never experienced a moment's ennui."
"Of whom does your majesty speak?"
"Of my poor jester, Chicot. Alas! where is he?"
D'Epernon rose, piqued. "Your majesty's souvenirs, to-day, are not very amusing for other people," said he.
"Why so?"
"Your majesty, without intending it, perhaps, compared me to Chicot, which is not very flattering."
"You are wrong, D'Epernon; I could only compare to Chicot a man who loves me, and whom I love."
"It was not to resemble Chicot, I suppose, that your majesty made me a duke?"
"Chicot loved me, and I miss him; that is all I can say. Oh! when I think that in the same place where you now are have been all those young men, handsome, brave, and faithful – that there, on that very chair on which you have placed your hat, Chicot has slept more than a hundred times – "
"Perhaps that was very amusing," interrupted the duke, "but certainly not very respectful."
"Alas! he has now neither mind nor body." – "What became of him?"
"He died, like all who loved me."
"Well, sire, I think he did well to die; he was growing old, and I have heard that sobriety was not one of his virtues. Of what did he die – indigestion?"
"Of grief."
"Oh! he told you so, to make you laugh once more."
"You are wrong; he would not sadden me with the news of his illness. He knew how I regretted my friends – he, who had so often seen me weep for them."
"Then it was his shade that came to tell you?"
"No; I did not even see his shade. It was his friend, the worthy prior Gorenflot, who wrote me this sad news."
"I see that if he lived your majesty would make him chancellor."
"I beg, duke, that you will not laugh at those who loved me, and whom I loved."
"Oh! sire, I do not desire to laugh, but just now you reproached me with want of gayety, parfandious!"
"Well, now I am in the mood to hear bad news, if you have any to tell. Luckily I have strength to bear it, or I should be dead ten times a day."
"Which would not displease certain people of our acquaintance."
"Oh! against them I have the arms of my Swiss."
"I could find you a better guard than that."
"You?" – "Yes, sire."
"What is it?"
"Will your majesty be so good as to accompany me to the old buildings of the Louvre?"
"On the site of the Rue de l'Astruce?"
"Precisely."
"What shall I see there?"
"Oh! come first."
"It is a long way, duke."
"We can go in five minutes through the galleries."
"D'Epernon – "
"Well, sire?"
"If what you are about to show me be not worth seeing, take care."
"I answer for it, sire."
"Come, then," said the king, rising.
The duke took his cloak, presented the king's sword to him, then, taking a light, preceded his majesty.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE DORMITORY
In less than five minutes they arrived at their destination. The duke took out a key, and, after crossing a court, opened an arched door, the bottom of which was overgrown with long grass. They went along a dark corridor, and then up a staircase to a room, of which D'Epernon had also the key. He opened the door, and showed the king forty-five beds, and in each of them a sleeper.
The king looked at all this with a troubled curiosity. "Well," said he, "who are these people?"
"People who sleep to-night, but will not do so to-morrow night."
"Why not?"
"That your majesty may sleep in peace."
"Explain yourself. Are these your friends?"
"Chosen by me, sire; intrepid guards, who will not quit your majesty, and who, gentlemen all, will be able to go wherever your majesty goes, and will let no one approach you."
"And you thought of this, D'Epernon?"
"I, alone, sire."
"We shall be laughed at."
"No, we shall be feared."
"But they will ruin me?"
"How can a king be ruined?"
"I cannot pay my Swiss!"
"Look at these men, sire; do you think they would be very expensive to keep?"
"But they could not always live like this, they would be stifled. And look at their doublets!"
"Oh! I confess they are not all very sumptuously clothed, but if they had been born dukes and peers – "
"Yes, I understand; they would have cost me more?" – "Just so."
"Well, how much will they cost? That will, perhaps, decide me, for, in truth, D'Epernon, they do not look very inviting."
"Sire, I know they are rather thin and burned by our southern sun, but I was so when I came to Paris. They will fatten and whiten like me."
"How they snore!"
"Sire, you must not judge them to-night; they have supped well."
"Stay, there is one speaking in his sleep; let us listen."
Indeed, one of the gentlemen called out, "If you are a woman, fly!"
The king approached him softly. "Ah! ah!" said he, "he is a gallant."
"What do you think of him, sire?"
"His face pleases me, and he has white hands and a well-kept beard."
"It is Ernanton de Carmainges, a fine fellow, who is capable of much."
"He has left behind him some love, I suppose, poor fellow. But what a queer figure his next neighbor is."
"Ah! that is M. de Chalabre. If he ruins your majesty, it will not be without enriching himself, I answer for it."
"And that one, with such a somber air; he does not seem as though he dreamed of love."
"What number, sire?"
"Number 12."
"M. de St. Maline, a brave fellow, with a heart of bronze."
"Well,