devil, I believe."

"Eh! eh!" said the king.

He rubbed his hands, he laughed with that inward mirth which makes the
countenance beam; he was unable to dissimulate his joy, although he
endeavored at moments to compose himself. No one understood it in the
least, not even Master Olivier. He remained silent for a moment, with a
thoughtful but contented air.

"Are they in force?" he suddenly inquired.

"Yes, assuredly, sire," replied Gossip Jacques.

"How many?"

"Six thousand at the least."

The king could not refrain from saying: "Good!" he went on,--

"Are they armed?"

"With scythes, pikes, hackbuts, pickaxes. All sorts of very violent
weapons."

The king did not appear in the least disturbed by this list. Jacques
considered it his duty to add,--

"If your majesty does not send prompt succor to the bailiff, he is
lost."

"We will send," said the king with an air of false seriousness. "It is
well. Assuredly we will send. Monsieur the bailiff is our friend. Six
thousand! They are desperate scamps! Their audacity is marvellous, and
we are greatly enraged at it. But we have only a few people about us
to-night. To-morrow morning will be time enough."

Gossip Jacques exclaimed, "Instantly, sire! there will be time to sack
the bailiwick a score of times, to violate the seignory, to hang the
bailiff. For God's sake, sire! send before to-morrow morning."

The king looked him full in the face. "I have told you to-morrow
morning."

It was one Of those looks to which one does not reply. After a silence,
Louis XI. raised his voice once more,--

"You should know that, Gossip Jacques. What was--"

He corrected himself. "What is the bailiff's feudal jurisdiction?"

"Sire, the bailiff of the palace has the Rue Calendre as far as the Rue
de l'Herberie, the Place Saint-Michel, and the localities vulgarly known
as the Mureaux, situated near the church of Notre-Dame des Champs (here
Louis XI. raised the brim of his hat), which hotels number thirteen,
plus the Cour des Miracles, plus the Maladerie, called the Banlieue,
plus the whole highway which begins at that Maladerie and ends at the
Porte Sainte-Jacques. Of these divers places he is voyer, high, middle,
and low, justiciary, full seigneur."

"Bless me!" said the king, scratching his left ear with his right hand,
"that makes a goodly bit of my city! Ah! monsieur the bailiff was king
of all that."

This time he did not correct himself. He continued dreamily, and