"It is not the first who has been caught in this crab-pot," he
thought, and came nearer. But as the brown mass moved, he saw that
it was a man with torn clothes and a shabby fur cap.
It was the King--Louis XI in the last year of his life.
"Sire, in the name of all the saints, what is the matter with you?"
exclaimed the Doctor.
"Wretch!" answered the King, "why do you construct such traps that
one cannot find the way out of them?"
Now it was Louis himself who, in his youth, had constructed the
maze, but the Doctor could not venture to tell him so. Therefore he
spoke soothingly.
"Sire, you are ill. Why do you not remain in Tours? How have you
come here?"
"I cannot sleep, and I cannot eat. The last few days I have passed
in Vincennes, in Saint-Pol, in the Louvre, but I find peace nowhere.
At last I came here, in order to be safe in the place which only you
and I know; I came yesterday morning, and would have stayed longer,
but I was hungry, and when I wanted to get out, I could not find the
way. I have been here, freezing, last night. Take me away; I am ill;
feel my pulse, and see whether it is not the quartan ague."
The Doctor tried to feel his pulse, but did so with difficulty for
it was hardly beating at all; but he dared not tell the King so.
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