He bowed profoundly three times, and then seated himself nervously on the very edge of the stool, from which the lady had removed her work-basket.

She smiled and nodded to encourage the poet, while the monarch leaned back in his chair with an air of resignation.
"Shall it be a comedy, or a tragedy, or a burlesque pastoral ?" Corneille asked timidly.
"Not the burlesque pastoral," said the king with decision.

"Such things may be played, but cannot be read, since they are for the eye rather than the ear." The poet bowed his acquiescence.
"And not the tragedy, monsieur," said Madame de Maintenon, glancing up from her tapestry.

"The king has enough that is serious in his graver hours, and so I trust that you will use your talent to amuse him." "Ay, let it be a comedy," said Louis; "I have not had a good laugh since poor Moliere passed away." "Ah, your Majesty has indeed a fine taste," cried the courtier poet.
"Had you condescended to turn your own attention to poetry, where should we all have been then ?" Louis smiled, for no flattery was too gross to please him.
"Even as you have taught our generals war and our builders art, so you would have set your poor singers a loftier strain.

But Mars would hardly deign to share the humbler laurels of Apollo." "I have sometimes thought that I had some such power," answered the king complacently; "though amid my toils and the burdens of state I have had, as you say, little time for the softer arts." "But you have encouraged others to do what you could so well have done yourself, sire.