the
room.

"Joyeuse," he asked; "is it you?"

No one replied. The light burned dim, and only threw faint circles on
the ceiling of carved oak.

"Alone, still!" murmured the king. "Mon Dieu! I am alone all my life, as
I shall be after death."

"'Alone after death'; that is not certain," said a powerful voice near
the bed.

The king started up and looked round him in terror. "I know that voice,"
cried he.

"Ah! that is lucky," replied the voice.

"It is like the voice of Chicot."

"You burn, Henri: you burn."

Then the king, getting half out of bed, saw a man sitting in the very
chair which he had pointed out to D'Epernon.

"Heaven protect me!" cried he; "it is the shade of Chicot."

"Ah! my poor Henriquet, are you still so foolish?"

"What do you mean?"

"That shades cannot speak, having no body, and consequently no tongue."

"Then you are Chicot, himself?" cried the king, joyfully.

"Do not be too sure."

"Then you are not dead, my poor Chicot?"

"On the contrary; I am dead."

"Chicot, my only friend."

"You, at least, are not changed."

"But you, Chicot, are you changed?"

"I hope so."

"Chicot, my friend, why did you leave me?"

"Because I am dead."

"You said just now that you were not dead."

"Dead to some--alive to others."

"And to me?"--"Dead."

"Why dead to me?"

"It is easy to comprehend that you are not the master here."

"How?"

"You can do nothing for those who serve you."

"Chicot!"

"Do not be angry, or I shall be so, also."

"Speak then, my friend," said the king, fearful that Chicot would
vanish.

"Well, I had a little affair to settle with M. de Mayenne, you
remember?"

"Perfectly."

"I settled it; I beat this valiant captain without mercy. He sought for
me to hang me; and you, whom I thought would protect me, abandoned me,
and made peace with him. Then I declared myself dead and buried by the
aid of my friend Gorenflot, so that M. de Mayenne has ceased to search
for me."

"What a frightful courage you had, Chicot; did you not know the grief
your death would cause me?"

"I have never lived so tranquilly as since the world thought me dead."

"Chicot, my head turns; you frighten me--I know not what to think."

"Well! settle something."

"I think that you are dead and--"

"Then I lie; you are polite."

"You commence by concealing some things from me; but presently, like the
orators of antiquity, you will tell me terrible truths."

"Oh! as to