"I am dead asleep." "You can sleep in the Garde-Robe," the King persisted.
"Thank you for nothing, sire!" was the gay answer.

"I know that bed! I shall sleep longer and better in my own." The King shuddered, but strove to hide the movement under a shrug of his shoulders.

He turned away.
"It is God's will!" he muttered.

He was white to the lips.
Rochefoucauld did not catch the words.

"Good night, sire," he cried.
"Farewell, little master." And with a nod here and there, he passed to the door, followed by Mergey and Chamont, two gentlemen of his suite.
Nancay raised the curtain with an obsequious gesture.