BOOK TENTH.
CHAPTER 5. THE RETREAT IN WHICH MONSIEUR LOUIS OF FRANCE SAYS HIS PRAYERS.
(continued)
"Am I to have my roof?" said Coictier.
"Yes; and go to the devil, but cure me."
Jacques Coictier bowed low and said,--
"Sire, it is a repellent which will save you. We will
apply to your loins the great defensive composed of cerate,
Armenian bole, white of egg, oil, and vinegar. You will
continue your ptisan and we will answer for your majesty."
A burning candle does not attract one gnat alone. Master
Olivier, perceiving the king to be in a liberal mood, and judging
the moment to be propitious, approached in his turn.
"Sire--"
"What is it now?" said Louis XI.
"Sire, your majesty knoweth that Simon Radin is dead?"
"Well?"
"He was councillor to the king in the matter of the courts
of the treasury."
"Well?"
"Sire, his place is vacant."
As he spoke thus, Master Olivier's haughty face quitted its
arrogant expression for a lowly one. It is the only change
which ever takes place in a courtier's visage. The king
looked him well in the face and said in a dry tone,--"I
understand."
He resumed,
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