All found out before long, not only how little account he made of them, but also what cruel pleasure he sometimes took in making them conscious of his disdain and his power.

He was "familiar," but not by no means "vulgar;" he was in conversation able and agreeable, with a mixture, however, of petulance and indiscretion, even when he was meditating some perfidy; and "there is much need," he used to say, "that my tongue should sometimes serve me; it has hurt me often enough." The most puerile superstitions, as well as those most akin to a blind piety, found their way into his mind.

When he received any bad news, he would cast aside forever the dress he was wearing when the news came; and of death he had a dread which was carried to the extent of pusillanimity and ridiculousness.

"Whilst he was every day," says M.de Barante, "becoming more suspicious, more absolute, more terrible to his children, to the princes of the blood, to his old servants, and to his wisest counsellors, there was one man who, without any fear of his wrath, treated him with brutal rudeness.

This was James Cattier, his doctor.
When the king would sometimes complain of it before certain confidential servants, 'I know very well,' Cattier would say, that some fine morning you'll send me where you've sent so many others; but, 'sdeath, you'll not live a week after!'" Then the king would coax him, overwhelm him with caresses, raise his salary to ten thousand crowns a month, make him a present of rich lordships; and he ended by making him premier president of the Court of Exchequer.