_Francis_--Kings and their subjects are equal in the eyes of the Lord; he owes you his aid as to the rest of his children; be more just to yourself, and claim for your soul that help for which you beg.
_Louis_ [_eagerly_]--No, not so much at a time: let us now mind the body; I shall think of the soul by-and-by.
_Francis_--It is your remorse, O King, 'tis that smarting wound inflicted by your crimes, which slowly drags your body to final ruin.
_Francis_--Vain hope! The weight of your present alarms is made up of thirty years of iniquitous life. Confess your shame, disclose your sins, and let sincere repentance wash away your defiled soul.
_Louis_--Say yes, promise that I shall. I am going to confess all.
_Francis_ [_seating himself whilst the King stands up with clasped hands_]--Speak then, sinner, who summon me to perform this holy ministry.
_Louis_ [_after having recited mentally the_ Confiteor]--I cannot and dare not refuse.
_Louis_--Through fear of the Dauphin, the late King died of starvation.
_Francis_--A son shortened his own father's old age!
_Louis_--My father's weakness was ruining France. A favorite ruled. France must have perished had not the King done so. State interests are higher than--
_Francis_--Confess thy sins, thou wicked son; do not excuse thy wrong-doings.
_Francis_--Were you instrumental in his death?
_Louis_--If those who said so fell in my power!...
_Louis_--His ghost rising from the grave can alone with impunity accuse me of his death.
_Francis_ [_rising_]--You would escape your just punishment! Tremble! I was your brother, I am now your judge. Crushed under your sin, bend low your head. Return to nothingness, empty Majesty! I no longer see the King, I hear the criminal: to your knees, fratricide!
_Louis_ [_falling on his knees_]--I shudder.
_Louis_ [_crawling to the monk and catching hold of his garments_]--I own my fault, have pity on me! I beat my breast and repent another crime. I do not excuse it.
_Francis_ [_resuming his seat_]--Is this not all?
_Louis_--Nemours!... He was a conspirator. But his death.... His crime was proved. But under his scaffold his children's tears.... Thrice against his lord he had taken up arms. His life-blood spattered them. Yet his death was but just.