Long ago the famous Nostradamus had told him that he would live to be a king, but of the smallest kingdom in the world.

"Every man is a king in his coffin," he had answered.

"The grave is cold and your kingdom shall be warm," the wizard had rejoined.

On which the courtiers had laughed, promising him a Moorish island and a black queen.

And he had gibed with the rest, but secretly had taken note of the sovereign counties of France, their rulers and their heirs.