BOOK TENTH.
CHAPTER 5. THE RETREAT IN WHICH MONSIEUR LOUIS OF FRANCE SAYS HIS PRAYERS.
(continued)
"Friend," returned the king, "you are speaking of a battle.
The question here is of a mutiny. And I will gain the upper
hand of it as soon as it shall please me to frown."
The other replied indifferently,--
"That may be, sire; in that case, 'tis because the people's
hour hath not yet come."
Guillaume Rym considered it incumbent on him to intervene,--
"Master Coppenole, you are speaking to a puissant king."
"I know it," replied the hosier, gravely.
"Let him speak, Monsieur Rym, my friend," said the king;
"I love this frankness of speech. My father, Charles the
Seventh, was accustomed to say that the truth was ailing; I
thought her dead, and that she had found no confessor. Master
Coppenole undeceiveth me."
Then, laying his hand familiarly on Coppenole's shoulder,--
"You were saying, Master Jacques?"
"I say, sire, that you may possibly be in the right, that the
hour of the people may not yet have come with you."
Louis XI. gazed at him with his penetrating eye,--
"And when will that hour come, master?"
"You will hear it strike."
"On what clock, if you please?"
Coppenole, with his tranquil and rustic countenance, made
the king approach the window.
"Listen, sire! There is here a donjon keep, a belfry,
cannons, bourgeois, soldiers; when the belfry shall hum, when
the cannons shall roar, when the donjon shall fall in ruins
amid great noise, when bourgeois and soldiers shall howl and
slay each other, the hour will strike."
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