on his advent to the throne, so far as forgetting to order his father's obsequies.
"Hé! sire!" suddenly exclaimed Jacques Coictier, "what has become of the acute attack of illness for which your majesty had me summoned?"
"Oh!" said the king, "I really suffer greatly, my gossip. There is a hissing in my ear and tiery rakes rack my chest."
Coictier took the king's hand, and begun to feel of his pulse with a knowing air.
"Look, Coppenole," said Rym, in a low voice. "Behold him between Coictier and Tristan. They are his whole court. A physician for himself, a headsman for others."
As he felt the king's pulse, Coictier assumed an air of greater and greater alarm. Louis XI. watched him with some anxiety. Coictier grew visibly more gloomy. The brave man had no other farm than the king's bad health. He speculated on it to the best of his ability.
"Oh! oh!" he murmured at length, " this is serious indeed."
"Is it not?" said the king, uneasily.
"Pulsus creber, anhelans, crepitans, irregularis" continued the leech.
"Pasque-Dleu!"
"This may carry off its man in less than three days."
"Our Lady!" exclaimed the king. "And the remedy, gossip?"
"I am meditating upon that, sire."
He made Louis XI. put out his tongue, shook his head, made a grimace, and in the very midst of these affectations,—
"Pardieu, sire," he suddenly said, "I must tell you that there is a receivership of the royal prerogatives vacant, and that I have a nephew."
"I give the receivership to your nephew, Gossip Jacques," replied the king; "but draw this fire from my breast."
"Since your majesty is so clement," replied the leech, "you will not refuse to aid me a little in building my house, Rue Saint-André-des-Arcs."
"Heugh!" said the king.
"I am at the end of my finances," pursued the doctor;
