"This is your business," he said at length to Tristan; "take you hold
of it."

He rose, walked a few steps away, and the courtiers left him alone.
Presently he saw Cornelius, mounted on his mule, riding away in
company with the grand provost.

"Where are those thousand gold crowns?" he called to him.

"Ah! sire, you are too great a king! there is no sum that can pay for
your justice."

Louis XI. smiled. The courtiers envied the frank speech and privileges
of the old silversmith, who promptly disappeared down the avenue of
young mulberries which led from Tours to Plessis.

Exhausted with fatigue, the young seigneur had indeed fallen soundly
asleep. Returning from his gallant adventure, he no longer felt the
same ardor and courage to defend himself against distant or imaginary
dangers with which he had rushed into the perils of the night. He had
even postponed till the morrow the cleaning of his soiled garments; a
great blunder, in which all else conspired. It was true that, lacking
the moonlight, he had missed finding all the screws of that cursed
lock; he had no patience to look for them. With the "laisser-aller" of
a tired man, he trusted to his luck, which had so far served him well.
He did, however, make a sort of compact with himself to awake at
daybreak, but the events of the day and the agitations of the night
did not allow him to keep faith with himself. Happiness is forgetful.
Cornelius no longer seemed formidable to the young man when he threw