“Saint-Aignan, I am dying with impatience; I am in a perfect fever; I shall never be able to wait until to-morrow — to-morrow! why, to-morrow is an eternity!”
“And yet, sire, I shall require you, if you please, to go out presently and divert your impatience by a good walk.”
“With you — agreed; we will talk about your projects, we will talk of her.”
“Nay, sire; I remain here.”
“Whom shall I go out with, then?”
“With the queen and all the ladies of the court.”
“Nothing shall induce me to do that, Saint-Aignan.”
“And yet, sire, you must.”