Chapter 10 - Page 2

Louis XVIII. wrote, in
a hand as small as possible, another note on the margin of
his Horace, and then looking at the duke with the air of a
man who thinks he has an idea of his own, while he is only
commenting upon the idea of another, said, --

"Go on, my dear duke, go on -- I listen."

"Sire," said Blacas, who had for a moment the hope of
sacrificing Villefort to his own profit, "I am compelled to
tell you that these are not mere rumors destitute of
foundation which thus disquiet me; but a serious-minded man,
deserving all my confidence, and charged by me to watch over
the south" (the duke hesitated as he pronounced these
words), "has arrived by post to tell me that a great peril
threatens the king, and so I hastened to you, sire."

"Mala ducis avi domum," continued Louis XVIII., still
annotating.

"Does your majesty wish me to drop the subject?"

"By no means, my dear duke; but just stretch out your hand."

"Which?"

"Whichever you please -- there to the left."

"Here, sire?"

"l tell you to the left, and you are looking to the right; I
mean on my left -- yes, there. You will find yesterday's
report of the minister of police. But here is M. Dandre
himself;" and M. Dandre, announced by the
chamberlain-in-waiting, entered.

"Come in," said Louis XVIII., with repressed smile, "come
in, Baron, and tell the duke all you know -- the latest news
of M. de Bonaparte; do not conceal anything, however
serious, -- let us see, the Island of Elba is a volcano, and
we may expect to have issuing thence flaming and bristling
war -- bella, horrida bella." M. Dandre leaned very
respectfully on the back of a chair with his two hands, and
said, --

"Has your majesty perused yesterday's report?"

"Yes, yes; but tell the duke himself, who cannot find
anything, what the report contains -- give him the
particulars of what the usurper is doing in his islet."

"Monsieur," said the baron to the duke, "all the servants of
his majesty must approve of the latest intelligence which we
have from the Island of Elba. Bonaparte" -- M. Dandre looked
at Louis XVIII., who, employed in writing a note, did not
even raise his head. "Bonaparte," continued the baron, "is
mortally wearied, and passes whole days in watching his
miners at work at Porto-Longone."

"And scratches himself for amusement," added the king.

"Scratches himself?" inquired the duke, "what does your
majesty mean?"

"Yes, indeed, my dear duke. Did you forget that this great
man, this hero, this demigod, is attacked with a malady of
the skin which worries him to death, prurigo?"

"And, moreover, my dear duke," continued the minister of