'Let him speak his mind，friend Rym，'said the King.'I like this plain speaking.My father，Charles VII，used to say that truth was sick.For my part，I thought she was dead and had found no confessor.M re Coppenole shows me I am mistaken.'Then，laying his hand on M re Coppenole's shoulder：'You were saying，M re Jacques—'
'I said，Sire，that may-be you were right；that the people's hour is not yet come with you.'
Louis XI looked at him with his penetrating gaze.'And when will that hour come，M re？'
'You will hear it strike.'
'By what clock，prithee？'
Coppenole，with his quiet and homely self-possession，signed to the King to approach the window.'Listen，Sire！There is here a donjon-keep，a bell-tower，cannon，townsfolk，soldiers.When the tocsin sounds，when the cannons roar，when，with great clamour，the fortress walls are shattered，when citizens and soldiers shout and kill each other—then the hour will strike.'
Louis's face clouded and he seemed to muse.He was silent for a moment，then，clapping his hand gently against the thick wall of the keep，as one pats the flank of a charger：
'Ah，surely not，'said he；'thou wilt not be so easily shattered，eh，my good Bastille？'
And turning abruptly to the undaunted Fleming：'Have you ever seen a revolt，M re Jacques？'
'Sire，I have made one，'answered the hosier.
'How do you set about it，'said the King，'to make a revolt？'
'Oh，'answered Coppenole，'it is no very difficult matter.There are a hundred ways.First of all，there must be dissatisfaction in the town—that's nothing uncommon.And next，there is the character of the inhabitants.Those of Ghent are prone to revolt.They ever love the son of the prince，but never the prince himself.Well，one fine morning，we will suppose，some one enters my shop and says to me：‘Father Coppenole，it is thus and thus—the Lady of Flanders wants to save her favourites，the chief provost has doubled the toll on green food，or something of the kind—what you will.'I throw down my work，run out of my shop into the street，and cry，‘á sac！'There is sure to be some empty cask about.I get upon it，and say in a loud voice the first thing that comes into my head—what's uppermost in my heart—and when one is of the people，Sire，one has always something in one's heart.Then a crowd gets together；they shout，they ring the tocsin，the people arm themselves by disarming the soldiers，the market people join the rest，and off they march.And so it will always be，so long as there are lords in the manors，citizens in the cities，and peasants in the country.'
'And against whom do you rise thus？'asked the King；'against your provost gainst your lords？'
'Sometimes；it all depends.Against the duke too，on occasion.'
Louis returned to his chair.'Ah！here，'he said with a smile，'they have not got further than the provosts！'
At the same instant Olivier le Daim entered the apartment.He was followed by two pages bearing the toilet necessaries of the King；but what struck Louis was to see him also accompanied by the Provost of Paris and the commander of the watch，who both appeared full of consternation.There was consternation，too，in the manner of the rancorous barber，but with an underlying satisfaction.
He was the first to speak.'Sire，I crave pardon of your Majesty for the calamitous news I bring.'
The King turned sharply round，tearing the mat under the feet of his chair.'What's that？'
'Sire，'replied Olivier，with the malevolent look of one who rejoices that he has to deal a violent blow，'it is not against the Provost of the Palais that this rising is directed.'
'Against whom，then？'
'Against you，Sire.'
The aged King sprang to his feet，erect as a young man.
'Explain thyself，Olivier！explain thyself！And look well to thy head，my Gossip；for I swear to thee by the cross of Saint-L？，that if thou speakest false in this matter，the sword that cut the throat of M.de Luxembourg is not so notched but it will manage to saw thine too.'
It was a formidable oath.Never but twice in his life had Louis sworn by the cross of Saint-L？.
Olivier opened his mouth to answer.'Sire—'
'Down on thy knees！'interrupted the King vehemently.'Tristan，stand guard over this man！'
Olivier went down on his knees.'Sire，'he said composedly，'a witch was condemned to death by your Court of Parliament.She took sanctuary in Notre-Dame.The people want to take her thence by main force.Monsieur the Provost and Monsieur the Commander of the Watch are here to contradict me if I speak not the truth.It is Notre-Dame the people are besieging.'
'Ah！ah！'murmured the King，pale and shaking with passion.'Notre-Dame they besiege！Our Lady，my good mistress，in her own Cathedral！Rise，Olivier.Thou art right.I give thee Simon Radin's office.Thou art right；it is me they attack.The witch is under the safeguard of the Church，the Church is under my safeguard.And I—who thought all the while that it was only the provost—and'tis against myself！'
Rejuvenated by passion，he began to pace the room with great strides.He laughed no more；he was terrible to look upon as he went to and fro—the fox was become a hyena.He seemed choking with rage，his lips moved，but no word came，his fleshless hands were clenched.Suddenly he raised his head，his sunken eyes blazed full of light，his voice range like a clarion：'Seize them，Tristan！Cut down the knaves！Away，Tristan，my friend！Kill！Kill！'
