MARGOT.

The king of Navarre's room was not very sumptuous, for he was not rich,
and did not waste the little he had. It was large, and, with his
bedroom, occupied all the right wing of the castle. It was well, though
not royally furnished, and had a magnificent view over meadows and
rivers. Great trees, willows, and planes hid the course of the stream
every here and there, which glanced between, golden in the sunlight, or
silver by that of the moon. This beautiful panorama was terminated by a
range of hills, which looked violet in the evening light. The windows on
the other side looked on to the court of the castle.

All these natural beauties interested Chicot less than the arrangements
of the room, which was the ordinary sitting-room of Henri.

The king seated himself, with his constant smile, in a great armchair of
leather with gilt nails, and Chicot, at his command, sat down on a stool
similar in material. Henri looked at him smilingly, but with curiosity.

"You will think I am very curious, dear M. Chicot," began the king, "but
I cannot help it. I have so long looked on you as dead, that in spite of
the pleasure your resurrection causes me, I can hardly realize the idea.
Why did you so suddenly disappear from this world?"

"Oh, sire!" said Chicot, with his usual freedom, "you disappeared from
Vincennes. Every one eclipses himself according to his need."

"I recognize by your ready wit that it is not to your ghost I am
speaking." Then, more seriously, "But now we must leave wit and speak of
business."

"If it does not too much fatigue your majesty, I am ready."

Henri's eyes kindled.

"Fatigue me! It is true I grow rusty here. I have to-day exercised my
body much, but my mind little."

"Sire, I am glad of that; for, ambassador from a king, your relation and
friend, I have a delicate commission to execute with your majesty."

"Speak quickly--you pique my curiosity."

"Sire--"

"First, your letters of credit. I know it is needless, since you are the
ambassador: but I must do my duty as king."

"Sire, I ask your majesty's pardon; but all the letters of credit that I
had I have drowned in rivers, or scattered in the air."

"And why so?"

"Because one cannot travel charged with an embassy to Navarre as if you
were going to buy cloth at Lyons; and if one has the dangerous honor of
carrying royal letters, one runs a risk of carrying them only to the
tomb."

"It is true," said Henri, "the roads are