at your majesty is hungry this morning.
Adieu, sire."

"Go, my good Crillon."

"Harnibleu! sire, since your majesty is so hungry, you ought to invite
me to breakfast with you."

"Why so, Crillon?"

"Because they say your majesty lives on air, and the air of the times is
very bad. Now I should have been happy to be able to say, 'These are all
pure calumnies; the king eats like every one else.'"

"No, Crillon, no; let me believe as they do. I do not wish to eat like a
simple mortal. Remember this, Crillon--a king ought always to remain
poetical, and only show himself in a noble position. Thus, for example,
do you remember Alexander?"

"What Alexander?"

"Alexander Magnus. Ah! you do not know Latin, I remember. Well, King
Alexander loved to bathe before his soldiers, because he was so well
made, handsome and plump that they compared him to Apollo and even to
Antinous."

"Oh! oh! sire, you would be devilishly in the wrong to bathe before
yours, for you are very thin, my poor king."

"Brave Crillon, go," said Henry, striking him on the shoulder; "you are
an excellent fellow, and do not flatter me; you are no courtier, my old
friend."

"That is why you do not invite me to breakfast," replied Crillon,
laughing good-humoredly, and taking his leave quite contentedly, for the
tap on the shoulder consoled him for not getting the breakfast.

When he was gone, the breakfast was laid at once. The maitre d'hotel had
surpassed himself.

A certain partridge soup, with a puree of truffles and chestnuts,
attracted the king's attention, after he had eaten some fine oysters.
Thus the ordinary broth, that faithful old friend of the king's,
implored vainly from its golden basin; it attracted no attention. The
king began to attack the partridge soup, and was at his fourth mouthful,
when a light step near him made the floor creak, and a well-known voice
behind him said sharply,

"A plate!"

The king turned. "Chicot!" cried he.

"Himself."

And Chicot, falling at once into his old habits, sat down in a chair,
took a plate and a fork, and began on the oysters, picking out the
finest, without saying a word.

"You here! you returned!" cried Henri.

"Hush!" said Chicot, with his mouth full; and he drew the soup toward
him.

"Stop, Chicot! that is my dish."

Chicot divided it equally, and gave the king back half. Then he poured
himself out some wine, passed from the soup to a pate made of tunny
fish, then to stuffed crab