At some distance behind them， two men dressed in garments of Flemish style were conversing， who were not sufficiently lost in the shadow to prevent any one who had been present at the performance of Gringoire's mystery from recognizing in them two of the principal Flemish envoys， Guillaume Rym， the sagacious pensioner of Ghent， and Jacques Coppenole， the popular hosier. The reader will remember that these men were mixed up in the secret politics of Louis XI.
Finally， quite at the end of the room， near the door， in the dark， stood， motionless as a statue， a vigorous man with thickset limbs， a military harness， with a surcoat of armorial bearings， whose square face pierced with staring eyes， slit with an immense mouth， his ears concealed by two large screens of flat hair， had something about it both of the dog and the tiger.
All were uncovered except the king.
The gentleman who stood near the king was reading him a sort of long memorial to which his majesty seemed to be listening attentively. The two Flemings were whispering together.
"Cross of God！" grumbled Coppenole， "I am tired of standing； is there no chair here？"Rym replied by a negative gesture， accompanied by a discreet smile.
"Croix-Dieu！" resumed Coppenole， thoroughly unhappy at being obliged to lower his voice thus， "I should like to sit down on the floor， with my legs crossed， like a hosier， as I do in my shop.""Take good care that you do not， Master Jacques.""Ouais！ Master Guillaume！ can one only remain here on his feet？""Or on his knees，" said Rym.
At that moment the king's voice was uplifted. They held their peace.
"Fifty sols for the robes of our valets， and twelve livres for the mantles of the clerks of our crown！ That's it！ Pour out gold by the ton！ Are you mad， Olivier？"As he spoke thus， the old man raised his head. The golden shells of the collar of Saint-Michael could be seen gleaming on his neck. The candle fully illuminated his gaunt and morose profile. He tore the papers from the other's hand.
"You are ruining us！" he cried， casting his hollow eyes over the scroll. "What is all this？ What need have we of so prodigious a household？ Two chaplains at ten livres a month each， and， a chapel clerk at one hundred sols！ A valet-de-chambre at ninety livres a year. Four head cooks at six score livres a year each！ A spit-cook， an herb-cook， a sauce-cook， a butler， two sumpter-horse lackeys， at ten livres a month each！ Two scullions at eight livres！ A groom of the stables and his two aids at four and twenty livres a month！ A porter， a pastry-cook， a baker， two carters， each sixty livres a year！
And the farrier six score livres！ And the master of the chamber of our funds， twelve hundred livres！ And the comptroller five hundred. And how do I know what else？
'Tis ruinous. The wages of our servants are putting France to the pillage！ All the ingots of the Louvre will melt before such a fire of expenses！ We shall have to sell our plate！
And next year， if God and our Lady (here he raised his hat)lend us life， we shall drink our potions from a pewter pot！"So saying， he cast a glance at the silver goblet which gleamed upon the table. He coughed and continued，--"Master Olivier， the princes who reign over great lordships， like kings and emperors， should not allow sumptuousness in their houses； for the fire spreads thence through the province.
Hence， Master Olivier， consider this said once for all. Our expenditure increases every year. The thing displease us.
How， ~pasque-Dieu~！ when in '79 it did not exceed six and thirty thousand livres， did it attain in '80， forty-three thousand six hundred and nineteen livres？ I have the figures in my head. In '81， sixty-six thousand six hundred and eighty livres， and this year， by the faith of my body， it will reach eighty thousand livres！ Doubled in four years！ Monstrous！"He paused breathless， then resumed energetically，--"I behold around me only people who fatten on my leanness！ you suck crowns from me at every pore."All remained silent. This was one of those fits of wrath which are allowed to take their course. He continued，--"'Tis like that request in Latin from the gentlemen of France， that we should re-establish what they call the grand charges of the Crown！ Charges in very deed！ Charges which crush！ Ah！ gentlemen！ you say that we are not a king to reign ~dapifero nullo， buticulario nullo~！ We will let you see， ~pasque-Dieu~！ whether we are not a king！"Here he smiled， in the consciousness of his power； this softened his bad humor， and he turned towards the Flemings，--"Do you see， Gossip Guillaume？ the grand warden of the keys， the grand butler， the grand chamberlain， the grand seneschal are not worth the smallest valet. Remember this， Gossip Coppenole. They serve no purpose， as they stand thus useless round the king； they produce upon me the effect of the four Evangelists who surround the face of the big clock of the palace， and which Philippe Brille has just set in order afresh.
They are gilt， but they do not indicate the hour； and the hands can get on without them."He remained in thought for a moment， then added， shaking his aged head，--"Ho！ ho！ by our Lady， I am not Philippe Brille， and Ishall not gild the great vassals anew. Continue， Olivier."The person whom he designated by this name， took the papers into his hands again， and began to read aloud，--"To Adam Tenon， clerk of the warden of the seals of the provostship of Paris； for the silver， ******， and engraving of said seals， which have been made new because the others preceding， by reason of their antiquity and their worn condition， could no longer be successfully used， twelve livres parisis.
"To Guillaume Frère， the sum of four livres， four sols parisis， for his trouble and salary， for having nourished and fed the doves in the two dove-cots of the H？tel des Tournelles， during the months of January， February， and March of this year； and for this he hath given seven ***tiers of barley.
