'Here's a terrible babbler！'said he.Then turning to Tristan l'Hermite：'Bah！let him go！'
Gringoire，giddy with joy，suddenly sat flat on the floor.
'Free？'growled Tristan.'Your Majesty will not even have him caged for a while？'
'Compére，'returned Louis XI，'dost thou think it is for birds like this we have cages made at three hundred and seventy-seven livres，eight sols，three deniers apiece？Set him at liberty，the rascal，and send him off with a drubbing.'
'Ouf！'cried Gringoire；'here indeed is a great King！'
And，fearing a counter-order，he hurried to the door，which Tristan opened for him with a very bad grace.The soldiers went out with him，driving him before them with great blows of their fists，which Gringoire bore like a true Stoic.
The good humour of the King，since the revolt against the provost had been announced to him，manifested itself at every point，and this unusual clemency was no insignificant sign of it.Tristan l'Hermite in his corner looked as surly as a dog that has seen much but got nothing.
Meanwhile the King was gaily drumming the Pont Audemer march on the arms of his chair.He was a dissembling prince，but he was much better able to conceal his sorrow than his joys.These outward and visible signs of rejoicing at good news sometimes carried him great lengths—thus，at the death of Charles the Bold，to vowing balustrades of silver to Saint-Martin of Tours；on his accession to the throne，of forgetting to give orders for his father's obsequies.
'Hah，Sire！'suddenly exclaimed Jacques Coictier，'what of the sharp attack of illness for which your Majesty sent for me？'
'Oh，'said the King，'truly I suffer greatly，Gossip Jacques.I have singings in the ear，and teeth of fire that rake my chest.'
Coictier took the King's hand and felt his pulse with a professional air.
'Look at him now，Coppenole，'said Rym in a low voice.'There he is between Coictier and Tristan.That is his whole court—a physician for himself，a hangman for the others.'
As he felt the King's pulse，Coictier assumed a look of great alarm.Louis regarded him with some anxiety，while the physician's countenance waxed gloomier every instant.The good man had no other means of subsistence but the King's bad health；he accordingly made the most of it.
'Oh，oh！'he muttered at last，'this is indeed serious.'
'Yes，is it not？'said the King anxiously.
'Pulsus creber，anhelans，crepitans，irregularis，'2 continued the physician.
'Pasque-Dieu！'exclaimed his Majesty.
'This might carry off a man in less than three days.'
'Notre-Dame！'cried the King.'And the remedy，Gossip？'
'I am thinking of one，Sire.'
He made Louis put out his tongue；then shook his head，pulled a long face，and in the midst of these antics—'Pardieu！Sire，'he remarked suddenly，'I must inform you that there is a receivership of episcopal revenues vacant，and that I have a nephew.'
'I give the receivership to thy nephew，Gossip Jacques；but take this fire from my breast.'
'Since your Majesty is so gracious，'the physician went on，'you will not refuse to assist me a little towards the building of my house in the Rue Saint-Andry des Arcs？'
'H'm！'said the King.
'I am at the end of my money，'continued the doctor，'and it would indeed be a pity that the house should be left without a roof—not for the sake of the house itself，which is plain and homely，but for the paintings of Jehan Fourbault which adorn the wainscotting.There is a Diana among them，flying in the air；but so excellently limned，so tender，so delicate，the attitude so artless，the hair so admirably arranged and crowned by a crescent，the flesh so white，that she leads those into temptation who regard her too closely.Then there is also another，a Ceres—another most admirable divinity—seated on sheaves of corn，and crowned with a garland of wheat-ears intertwined with salsify and other flowers.Never were more amorous eyes，or shapelier limbs，or a nobler mien，or more graceful folds of drapery.It is one of the most innocent and perfect beauties that ever brush produced.'
'Tormentor！'growled Louis，'to what does all this tend？'
'I require a roof over these paintings，Sire，and，although it be but a trifle，I have no money left.'
'What will it cost，this roof of thine？'
'Oh，well；a roof of copper-gilt and with mythological figures，two thousand livres at most.'
'Ha！the assassin！'screamed the King.'He never draws me a tooth but he makes a diamond out of it！'
'Am I to have my roof？'said Coictier.
'Yes！—and go to the devil；but cure me first.'
Jacques Coictier made a profound obeisance and said：'Sire，it is a repellent that will save you.We shall apply to your loins the great deterrent composed of cerade，clay of Armenia，white of egg，oil，and vinegar.You will continue the tisane，and we will answer for your Majesty's safety.'
A lighted candle never attracts one gnat only.Master Olivier，seeing the King in so liberal a mood，and judging the moment propitious，approached in his turn.
'Sire—'
'What do you want now？'asked Louis.
'Sire，your Majesty is aware that Simon Radin is dead.'
'Well？'
'He was King's Councillor to the Court of Treasury.'
'Well？'
'Sire，his post is vacant.'
As he spoke，M re Olivier's overbearing countenance changed its arrogance for cringing—the only alternation on the face of a courtier.The King looked him very straight in the face and answered dryly，'I understand.'