“As at present? yes, sire.”

The king walked several times up and down his chamber; it was very plain that he burned with a desire to speak, but that he was restrained by some fear or other. The lieutenant, standing motionless, hat in hand, watched him making these evolutions, and, whilst looking at him, grumbled to himself, biting his mustache:

“He has not half a crown worth of resolution! Parole d’honneur! I would lay a wager he does not speak at all!”

The king continued to walk about, casting from time to time a side glance at the lieutenant. “He is the very image of his father,” continued the latter, in is secret soliloquy, “he is at once proud, avaricious, and timid. The devil take his master, say I.”