La Fosse was
there, because it would seem that the King had grown fond of him,
and could not be without him since his coming to Toulouse.
His Majesty was, as usual, so dull and weary - not even roused by
the approaching trial of Montmorency, which was the main business
that had brought him South that even the company of this vapid,
shallow, but irrepressibly good-humoured La Fosse, with his
everlasting mythology, proved a thing desirable.
"I will see," said Louis, "that your friend the Chevalier is placed
under arrest at once, and as much for his attempt upon your life
as for the unstable quality of his political opinions, the law shall
deal with him - conclusively." He sighed. "It always pains me to
proceed to extremes against a man of his stamp. To deprive a fool
of his head seems a work of supererogation."
I inclined my head, and smiled at his pleasantry. Louis the just
rarely permitted himself to jest, and when he did his humour was
as like unto humour as water is like unto wine. Still, when a
monarch jests, if you are wise, if you have a favour to sue, or a
position at Court to seek or to maintain, you smile, for all that
the ineptitude of his witless wit be rather provocative of sorrow.
"Nature needs meddling with at times," hazarded La Fosse, from
behind His Majesty's chair. "This Saint-Eustache is a sort of
Pandora's box, which it is well to close ere--"
"Go to the devil," said the King shortly. "We are not jesting.
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