Chicot passed the remainder of the night dreaming in his armchair, for the face of that woman brought before him a number of illustrious shades connected with many happy or terrible souvenirs, and he who had regretted his sleep on first arriving, now thought no more of it.
When morning dawned he got up, threw a cloak over his shoulders, and with the firmness of a sage, examined the bottom of his purse and his shoes. Chicot, a man of lively imagination, had made in the principal beam which ran through his house a cavity, a foot and a half long and six inches wide, which he used as a strong box, to contain 1,000 crowns in gold. He had made the following calculation: "I spend the twentieth part of one of these crowns every day; therefore I have enough to last me for 20,000 days. I cannot live so long as that, but I may live half as long, and as I grow older my wants and expenses will increase, and this will give me twenty-five or thirty good years to live, and that is enough." He was therefore tranquil as to the future.
This morning on opening his store, "Ventre de biche!" he cried, "times are hard, and I need not be delicate with Henri. This money did not come from him, but from an old uncle. If it were still night, I would go and get 100 crowns from the king; but now I have no resource but in myself or in Gorenflot."
This idea of drawing money from Gorenflot made him smile. "It would be odd," thought he, "if Gorenflot should refuse 100 crowns to the friend through whom he was appointed prior to the Jacobins. But this letter of the king's. I must go and fetch it. But these Joyeuses are in truth capable of burning my house down some night, to attract the lady to her window: and my 1,000 crowns! really, I think it would be better to hide them in the ground. However, if they burn my house the king shall pay me for it."
Thus reassured, he left the house, and at that moment saw at the window of the opposite house the servant of the unknown lady. This man, as we have said, was completely disfigured by a scar extending from the left temple to the cheek; but although bald and with a gray beard, he had a quick, active appearance, and a fresh and young-looking complexion. On seeing Chicot, he drew his hood over his head, and was going in, but Chicot called out to him:
"Neighbor! the noise here last night quite disgusted me, and I am going for some weeks to my farm; will you be so obliging as to look after my house a little?"
"Willingly, monsieur."
"And if you see robbers?"
"Be easy, monsieur, I have a good arquebuse."
"I have still one more favor to ask."
"What is it?"
"I hardly like to call it out."
"I will come down to you."
He came down accordingly, with his hood drawn closely round his face, saying, as a sort of apology, "It is very cold this morning."
"Yes," said Chicot, "there is a bitter wind. Well, monsieur, I am going away."
"You told me that before!"
"Yes, I know; but I leave a good deal of money behind me."
"So much the worse; why not take it with you?"
"I cannot; but I leave it well hidden—so well, that I have nothing to fear but fire. If that should happen, will you try and look after that great beam you see on the right."
"Really, monsieur, you embarrass me. This confidence would have been far better made to a friend than to a stranger of whom you know nothing."
"It is true, monsieur, that I do not know you; but I believe in faces, and I think yours that of an honest man."
"But, monsieur, it is possible that this music may annoy my mistress also, and then she might move."
"Well, that cannot be helped, and I must take my chance."
"Thanks, monsieur, for your confidence in a poor unknown; I will try to be worthy of it;" and bowing, he went into the house.
Chicot murmured to himself, "Poor young man, what a wreck, and I have seen him so gay and so handsome."
The priory which the king had bestowed upon Gorenflot was situated near the Porte St. Antoine. This was at that time a very favorite quarter, for the king frequently visited the Chateau of Vincennes, and different noblemen had built charming residences in its neighborhood.
The priory was built on four sides of an immense court, planted with trees; it had a kitchen-garden behind, and a number of out-houses, which made it look like a small village. Two hundred monks occupied the dormitories situated at the end of the courtyard, while in the front, four large windows, with a balcony before them, gave to these apartments air and light.
It was maintained on its own resources and dependencies; its pasture land fed a troop of fifty oxen and ninety-nine sheep, for by some traditional law, no religious order was allowed to possess one hundred of anything, while certain outbuildings sheltered ninety-nine pigs of a particular breed, which were most carefully reared and fattened. The espaliers of the priory, which were exposed to the mid-day sun, furnished peaches, apricots, and grapes, while preserves of these fruits were skillfully made by a certain Brother Eusebius, who was the architect of the famous rock constructed of sweetmeats which had been presented to the two queens by the Hotel de Ville of Paris at the last state banquet which had taken place there.
In the interior of this paradise for gourmands and sluggards, in a sumptuous apartment, we shall find Gorenflot, ornamented with an additional chin, and characterized by that sort of venerable gravity which the constant habit of repose and good living gives to the most vulgar faces. Half-past seven in the morning had just struck. The prior had profited by the rule which gave to him an hour's more sleep than to the other monks, and now, although he had risen, he was quietly continuing his sleep in a large armchair as soft as eider down. The furniture of the room was more mundane than religious; a carved table, covered with a rich cloth, books of religious gallantry—that singular mixture of love and devotion, which we only meet with at that epoch of art—expensive vases, and curtains of rich damask, were some of the luxuries of which Dom Modeste Gorenflot had become possessed by the grace of God, of the king, and of Chicot.
Gorenflot slept, as we have said, in his chair, when the door opened softly, and two men entered. The first was about thirty-five years of age, thin and pale, and with a look which commanded, even before he spoke; lightnings seemed to dart from his eyes when they were open, although the expression was generally softened by a careful lowering of the white eyelids. This was Brother Borromée, who had been for the last three weeks treasurer of the convent. The other was a young man about seventeen or eighteen, with piercing black eyes, a bold look, and whose turned-up sleeves displayed two strong arms quick in gesticulation.
"The prior sleeps still, Father Borromée," said he: "shall we wake him?"
"On no account, Brother Jacques."
"Really, it is a pity to have a prior who sleeps so long, for we might have tried the arms this morning. Did you notice what beautiful cuirasses and arquebuses there were among them?"
"Silence! brother; you will be heard."
"How unlucky," cried the young man, impatiently, stamping his feet, "it is so fine to-day, and the court is so dry."
"We must wait, my child," replied Borromée, with a submission his glance belied.
"But why do you not order them to distribute the arms?"
"I, order!"
"Yes, you."
"You know that I am not the master here; there is the master."
"Yes, asleep, when every one else is awake," replied Jacques, impatiently.
"Let us respect his sleep," said Borromée, overturning a chair, however, as he spoke.
At the sound, Gorenflot looked up and said, sleepily, "Who is there?"
"Pardon us," said Borromée, "if we interrupt your pious meditations, but I have come to take your orders."
"Ah! good-morning, Brother Borromée; what orders do you want?"
"About the arms."
"What arms?"
"Those which your reverence ordered to be brought here."
"I, and when?"
"About a week ago."
"I ordered arms?"
"Without doubt," replied Borromée, firmly.
"And what for?"
"Your reverence said to me, 'Brother Borromée, it would be wise to procure arms for the use of the brethren; gymnastic exercises develop the bodily forces, as pious exhortations do those of the soul.'"
"I said that?"
"Yes, reverend prior; and I, an unworthy but obedient brother, hastened to obey."
"It is strange, but I remember nothing about it."
"You even added this text, 'Militat spiritu, militat gladio.'"
"What!" cried Gorenflot, "I added that text!"
"I have a faithful memory," said Borromée, lowering his eyes.
"Well, if I said so, of course I had my reasons for it. Indeed, that has always been my opinion."
"Then I will finish executing your orders, reverend prior," said Borromée, retiring with Jacques.
"Go," said Gorenflot, majestically.
"Ah!" said Borromée, "I had forgotten; there is a friend in the parlor who asks to see your reverence."
"What is his name?"
"M. Robert Briquet."
"Oh! he is not a friend; only an acquaintance."
"Then your reverence will not see him?"
"Oh, yes! let him come up; he amuses me."
When Chicot entered, the prior did not rise, but merely bent his head.
"Good-morning," said Chicot.
"Ah! there you are; you appear to have come to life again."
"Did you think me dead?"
"Diable! I never saw you."
"I was busy."
"Ah!"
Chicot knew that before being warmed by two or three bottles of old Burgundy, Gorenflot was sparing of his words; and so, considering the time of the morning, it was probable that he was still fasting, Chicot sat down to wait.
"Will you breakfast with me, M. Briquet?" asked Gorenflot.
"Perhaps."
"You must not be angry with me, if it has become impossible for me to give you as much time as I could wish."
"And who the devil asked you for your time? I did not even ask you for breakfast; you offered it."
"Certainly I offered it; but—"
"But you thought I should not accept."
"Oh! no, is that my habit?"
"Ah! a superior man like you can adopt any habits, M. le Prior."
Gorenflot looked at Chicot; he could not tell whether he was laughing at him or speaking seriously. Chicot rose.
"Why do you rise, M. Briquet?" asked Gorenflot.
"Because I am going away."
"And why are you going away, when you said you would breakfast with me?"
"I did not say I would; I said, perhaps."
"You are angry."
Chicot laughed. "I angry!" said he, "at what? Because you are impudent, ignorant, and rude? Oh! my dear monsieur, I have known you too long to be angry at these little imperfections."
Gorenflot remained stupefied.
"Adieu," said Chicot.
"Oh! do not go."
"My journey will not wait."
"You travel?"
"I have a mission."
"From whom?"
"From the king."
"A mission from the king! then you have seen him again?"
"Certainly."
"And how did he receive you?"
"With enthusiasm; he has a memory, king as he is."
"A mission from the king!" stammered Gorenflot.
"Adieu," repeated Chicot.
Gorenflot rose, and seized him by the hand. "Come! let us explain ourselves," said he.
"On what?"
"On your susceptibility to-day."
"I! I am the same to-day as on all other days."
"No."
"A simple mirror of the people I am with. You laugh, and I laugh; you are rude, so am I."
"Well! I confess I was preoccupied."
"Really!"
"Can you not be indulgent to a man who has so much work on his shoulders? Governing this priory is like governing a province: remember, I command two hundred men."
"Ah! it is too much indeed for a servant of God."
"Ah! you are ironical, M. Briquet. Have you lost all your Christian charity? I think you are envious, really."
"Envious! of whom?"
"Why, you say to yourself, Dom Modeste Gorenflot is rising—he is on the ascending scale."
"While I am on the descending one, I suppose?"
"It is the fault of your false position, M. Briquet."
"M. Gorenflot, do you remember the text, 'He who humbles himself, shall be exalted?'"
"Nonsense!" cried Gorenflot.
"Ah! now he doubts the Holy Writ; the heretic!"
"Heretic, indeed! But what do you mean, M. Briquet?"
"Nothing, but that I set out on a journey, and that I have come to make you my adieux; so, good-by."
"You shall not leave me thus."
"I must."
"A friend!"
"In grandeur one has no friends."
"Chicot!"
"I am no longer Chicot; you reproached me with my false position just now."
"But you must not go without eating; it is not wholesome."
"Oh! you live too badly here."
"Badly, here!" murmured the prior, in astonishment.
"I think so."
"You had to complain of your last dinner here?"
"I should think so."
"Diable! and of what?"
"The pork cutlets were burned."
"Oh!"
"The stuffed ears did not crack under your teeth."
"Ah!"
"The capon was soft."
"Good heavens!"
"The soup was greasy."
"Misericorde!"
"And then you have no time to give me."
"I!"
"You said so, did you not? It only remains for you to become a liar."
"Oh! I can put off my business: it was only a lady who asks me to see her."
"See her, then."
"No, no! dear M. Chicot, although she has sent me a hundred bottles of Sicilian wine."
"A hundred bottles!"
"I will not receive her, although she is probably some great lady. I will receive only you."
"You will do this?"
"To breakfast with you, dear M. Chicot—to repair my wrongs toward you."
"Which came from your pride."
"I will humble myself."
"From your idleness."
"Well! from to-morrow I will join my monks in their exercises."
"What exercises?"
"Of arms."
"Arms!"
"Yes; but it will be fatiguing to command."
"Who had this idea?"
"I, it seems."
"You! impossible!"
"No. I gave the order to Brother Borromée."
"Who is he?"
"The new treasurer."
"Where does he come from?"
"M. le Cardinal de Guise recommended him."
"In person?"
"No, by letter."
"And it is with him you decided on this?"
"Yes, my friend."
"That is to say, he proposed it and you agreed."
"No, my dear M. Chicot; the idea was entirely mine."
"And for what end?"
"To arm them."
"Oh! pride, pride! Confess that the idea was his."
"Oh! I do not know. And yet it must have been mine, for it seems that I pronounced a very good Latin text on the occasion."
"You! Latin! Do you remember it?"
"Militat spiritu—"
"Militat gladio."
"Yes, yes: that was it."
"Well, you have excused yourself so well that I pardon you. You are still my true friend."
Gorenflot wiped away a tear.
"Now let us breakfast, and I promise to be indulgent."
"Listen! I will tell the cook that if the fare be not regal, he shall be placed in confinement; and we will try some of the wine of my penitent."
"I will aid you with my judgment."'
Gorenflot was not long in giving his orders. The cook was summoned.
"Brother Eusebius," said Gorenflot, in a severe voice, "listen to what my friend M. Briquet is about to tell you. It seems that you are negligent, and I hear of grave faults in your last soup, and a fatal mistake in the cooking of your ears. Take care, brother, take care; a single step in a wrong direction may be irremediable."
The monk grew red and pale by turns, and stammered out an excuse.
"Enough," said Gorenflot, "what can we have for breakfast to-day?"
"Eggs fried with cock's combs."
"After?"
"Mushrooms."
"Well?"
"Crabs cooked with Madeira."
"Those are all trifles; tell us of something solid."
"A ham boiled with pistachios."
Chicot looked contemptuous.
"Pardon!" cried Eusebius, "it is cooked in sherry wine."
Gorenflot hazarded an approving glance toward Chicot.
"Good! is it not, M. Briquet?" said he.
Chicot made a gesture of half-satisfaction.
"And what have you besides?"
"You can have some eels."
"Oh! we will dispense with the eels," said Chicot.
"I think, M. Briquet," replied the cook, "that you would regret it if you had not tasted my eels."
"What! are they rarities?"
"I nourish them in a particular manner."
"Oh, oh!"
"Yes," added Gorenflot; "it appears that the Romans or the Greeks—I forget which—nourished their lampreys as Eusebius does his eels. He read of it in an old author called Suetonius."
"Yes, monsieur, I mince the intestines and livers of fowls and game with a little pork, and make a kind of sausage meat, which I throw to my eels, and they are kept in soft water, often renewed, in which they become large and fat. The one which I shall offer you to-day weighs nine pounds."
"It must be a serpent!" said Chicot.
"It swallowed a chicken at a meal."
"And how will it be dressed?"
"Skinned and fried in anchovy paste, and done with bread crumbs; and I shall have the honor of serving it up with a sauce flavored with garlic and allspice, lemons and mustard."
"Perfect!" cried Chicot.
Brother Eusebius breathed again.
"Then we shall want sweets," said Gorenflot.
"I will invent something that shall please you."
"Well, then, I trust to you; be worthy of my confidence."
Eusebius bowed and retired. Ten minutes after, they sat down, and the programme was faithfully carried out. They began like famished men, drank Rhine wine, Burgundy and Hermitage, and then attacked that of the fair lady.
"What do you think of it?" asked Gorenflot.
"Good, but light. What is your fair petitioner's name?"
"I do not know; she sent an ambassador."
They ate as long as they could, and then sat drinking and talking, when suddenly a great noise was heard.
"What is that?" asked Chicot.
"It is the exercise which commences."
"Without the chief? Your soldiers are badly disciplined, I fear."
"Without me! never!" cried Gorenflot, who had become excited with wine. "That cannot be, since it is I who command—I who instruct—and stay, here is Brother Borromée, who comes to take my orders."
Indeed, as he spoke, Borromée entered, throwing on Chicot a sharp and oblique glance.
"Reverend prior," said he, "we only wait for you to examine the arms and cuirasses."
"Cuirasses!" thought Chicot, "I must see this," and he rose quietly.
"You will be present at our maneuvers?" said Gorenflot, rising in his turn, like a block of marble on legs. "Your arm, my friend; you shall see some good instruction."
When Chicot, sustaining the reverend prior, arrived in the courtyard, he found there two bands of one hundred men each, waiting for their commander. About fifty among the strongest and most zealous had helmets on their heads and long swords hanging to belts from their waists. Others displayed with pride bucklers, on which they loved to rattle an iron gauntlet.
Brother Borromée took a helmet from the hands of a novice, and placed it on his head. While he did so, Chicot looked at it and smiled.
"You have a handsome helmet there, Brother Borromée," said he; "where did you buy it, my dear prior?"
Gorenflot could not reply, for at that moment they were fastening a magnificent cuirass upon him, which, although spacious enough to have covered Hercules, Farnese constrained wofully the undulations of the flesh of the worthy prior, who was crying:
"Not so tight! I shall stifle; stop!"
But Borromée replied, "It made part of a lot of armor that the reverend prior bought yesterday to arm the convent."
"I!" said Gorenflot.
"Yes; do you not remember that they brought several cuirasses and casques here, according to your reverence's orders?"
"It is true," said Gorenflot.
"Ventre de biche!" thought Chicot; "my helmet is much attached to me, for, after having taken it myself to the Hotel Guise, it comes here to meet me again."
At a sign from Borromée, the monks now formed into lines, while Chicot sat down on a bench to look on.
Gorenflot stood up. "Attention," whispered Borromée to him.
Gorenflot drew a gigantic sword from the scabbard, and waving it in the air, cried in the voice of a stentor, "Attention!"
"Your reverence will fatigue yourself, perhaps, in giving the orders," said Borromée, softly; "if it please you to spare your precious health, I will command to-day."
"I should wish it, I am stifling."
Borromée bowed and placed himself at the head of the troop.
"What a complaisant servant," said Chicot.
"He is charming, I told you so."
"I am sure he does the same for you every day."
"Oh! every day. He is as submissive as a slave."
"So that you have really nothing to do here—Brother Borromée acts for you?"
"Oh! mon Dieu, yes."
It was wonderful to see Borromée with his arms in his hands, his eye dilated, and his vigorous arm wielding his sword in so skillful a manner that one would have thought him a trained soldier. Each time that Borromée gave an order, Gorenflot repeated it, adding:
"Brother Borromée is right; but I told you all that yesterday. Pass the pike from one hand to the other! Raise it to the level of the eye!"
"You are a skillful instructor," said Chicot.
"Yes, I understand it well."
"And Borromée an apt pupil."
"Oh, yes! he is very intelligent."
While the monks went through their exercises, Gorenflot said, "You shall see my little Jacques."
"Who is Jacques?"
"A nice lad, calm-looking, but strong, and quick as lightning. Look, there he is with a musket in his hand, about to fire."
"And he fires well."
"That he does."
"But stay—"
"Do you know him?"
"No; I thought I did, but I was wrong."
While they spoke, Jacques loaded a heavy musket, and placing himself at one hundred yards from the mark, fired, and the ball lodged in the center, amid the applause of the monks.
"That was well done!" cried Chicot.
"Thank you, monsieur," said Jacques, whose cheeks colored with pleasure.
"You manage your arms well," added Chicot.
"I study, monsieur."
"But he is best at the sword," said Gorenflot; "those who understand it, say so, and he is practicing from morning till night."
"Ah! let us see," said Chicot.
"No one here, except perhaps myself, is capable of fencing with him; but will you try him yourself, monsieur?" said Borromée.
"I am but a poor bourgeois," said Chicot; "formerly I have used my sword like others, but now my legs tremble and my arm is weak."
"But you practice still?"
"A little," replied Chicot, with a smile. "However, you, Brother Borromée, who are all muscle and tendon, give a lesson to Brother Jacques, I beg, if the prior will permit it."
"I shall be delighted," cried Gorenflot.
The two combatants prepared for the trial. Borromée had the advantage in height and experience. The blood mounted to the cheeks of Jacques and animated them with a feverish color. Borromée gradually dropped all appearance of a monk, and was completely the maitre d'armes: he accompanied each thrust with a counsel or a reproach, but often the vigor and quickness of Jacques triumphed over the skill of his teacher, who was several times touched.
When they paused, Chicot said, "Jacques touched six times and Borromée nine; that is well for the scholar, but not so well for the master."
The flash of Borromée's eyes showed Chicot that he was proud.
"Monsieur," replied he, in a tone which he endeavored to render calm, "the exercise of arms is a difficult one, especially for poor monks."
"Nevertheless," said Chicot, "the master ought to be at least half as good again as his pupil, and if Jacques were calmer, I am certain he would fence as well as you."
"I do not think so," replied Borromée, biting his lips with anger.
"Well! I am sure of it."
"M. Briquet, who is so clever, had better try Jacques himself," replied Borromée, in a bitter tone.
"Oh! I am old."
"Yes, but learned."
"Ah! you mock," thought Chicot, "but wait." Then he said, "I am certain, however, that Brother Borromée, like a wise master, often let Jacques touch him out of complaisance."
"Ah!" cried Jacques, frowning in his turn.
"No," replied Borromée, "I love Jacques, certainly, but I do not spoil him in that manner. But try yourself, M. Briquet."
"Oh, no."
"Come, only one pass."
"Try," said Gorenflot.
"I will not hurt you, monsieur," said Jacques, "I have a very light hand."
"Dear child," murmured Chicot, with a strange glance. "Well!" said he, "since every one wishes it, I will try," and he rose slowly, and prepared himself with about the agility of a tortoise.
Fencing was not at that time the science that it is now. The swords, sharp on each side, made them strike as often with the edge as with the point; besides, the left hand, armed with a dagger, was at the same time offensive and defensive, and hence resulted a number of slight wounds, which, in a real combat, kept up a continual excitement. Fencing, then in its infancy, consisted in a crowd of evolutions, in which the actor moved continually, and which, on a ground chosen by chance, might be continually impeded by its nature.
It was common to see the fencer throw himself forward, draw back again, or jump to the right or left, so that agility, not only of the hand, but of the whole body, was necessary. Chicot did not appear to have learned in this school, but seemed to have forestalled the modern style, of which the superiority and grace is in the agility of the hands and immovability of the body. He stood erect and firm, with a wrist at once strong and supple, and with a sword which seemed a flexible reed from the point to the middle of the blade, and an inflexible steel from thence to the guard.
At the very first commencement, Jacques, seeing before him this man of bronze, whose wrist alone seemed alive, gave some impatient passes, which merely made Chicot extend his arm, and at every opening left by the young man, strike him full on the chest. Jacques, red with anger and emulation as this was repeated, bounded back, and for ten minutes displayed all the resources of his wonderful agility—he flew like a tiger, twisted like a serpent, and bounded from right to left; but Chicot, with his calm air and his long arm, seized his time, and putting aside his adversary's sword, still sent his own to the same place, while Borromée grew pale with anger. At last, Jacques rushed a last time on Chicot, who, parrying his thrust with force, threw the poor fellow off his equilibrium, and he fell, while Chicot himself remained firm as a rock.
"You did not tell us you were a pillar," said Borromée, biting his nails with vexation.
"I, a poor bourgeois!" said Chicot.
"But, monsieur, to manage a sword as you do, you must have practiced enormously."
"Oh! mon Dieu! yes, monsieur, I have often held the sword, and have always found one thing."—"What is that?"
"That for him who holds it, pride is a bad counselor and anger a bad assistant. Now, listen, Jacques," added he: "you have a good wrist, but neither legs nor head; you are quick, but you do not reason. There are three essential things in arms—first the head, then the hands and legs: with the one you can defend yourself, with the others you may conquer, but with all three you can always conquer."
"Ah! monsieur," said Jacques, "try Brother Borromée; I should like to see it."
"No," said the treasurer, "I should be beaten, and I would rather confess it than prove it."
"How modest and amiable he is!" said Gorenflot.
"On the contrary," whispered Chicot, "he is stupid with vanity. At his age I would have given anything for such a lesson," and he sat down again.
Jacques approached him, and admiration triumphing over the shame of defeat:
"Will you give me some lessons, M. Briquet?" said he; "the prior will permit it, will you not, your reverence?"
"With pleasure, my child."
"I do not wish to interfere with your master," said Chicot, bowing to Borromée.
"Oh! I am not his only master," said he. "Neither all the honor nor the defeat are wholly due to me."
"Who is the other, then?"
"Oh! no one!" cried Borromée, fearing he had committed an imprudence.
"Who is he, Jacques?" asked Chicot.
"I remember," said Gorenflot; "he is a little fat man who comes here sometimes and drinks well."
"I forget his name," said Borromée.
"I know it," said a monk who was standing by. "It is Bussy Leclerc."
"Ah! a good sword," said Chicot.
Jacques reiterated his request.
"I cannot teach you," said Chicot. "I taught myself by reflection and practice; and I advise you to do the same."
Gorenflot and Chicot now returned to the house.
"I hope," said Gorenflot, with pride, "that this is a house worth something, and well managed."
"Wonderful! my friend; and when I return from my mission—"
"Ah! true, dear M. Chicot; let us speak of your mission."
"So much the more willingly, that I have a message to send to the king before I go."
"To the king, my dear friend! You correspond with the king?"
"Directly."
"And you want a messenger?"
"Yes."
"Will you have one of our monks? It would be an honor to the priory."
"Willingly."
"Then you are restored to favor?"
"More than ever."
"Then," said Gorenflot, "you can tell the king all that we are doing here in his favor."
"I shall not fail to do so."
"Ah! my dear Chicot," cried Gorenflot, who already believed himself a bishop.
"But first I have two requests to make."
"Speak."
"First, money, which the king will restore to you."
"Money! I have my coffers full."
"Ma foi! you are lucky."
"Will you have 1,000 crowns?"
"No, that is far too much; I am modest in my tastes, humble in my desires, and my title of ambassador does not make me proud; therefore 100 crowns will suffice."
"Here they are; and the second thing?"
"An attendant!"
"An attendant?"
"Yes, to accompany me; I love society."
"Ah! my friend, if I were but free, as formerly."
"But you are not."
"Greatness enslaves me," murmured Gorenflot.
"Alas!" said Chicot, "one cannot do everything at once. But not being able to have your honorable company, my dear prior, I will content myself with that of the little Jacques; he pleases me."
"You are right, Chicot, he is a rare lad."
"I am going to take him 250 leagues, if you will permit it."
"He is yours, my friend."
The prior struck a bell, and when the servant appeared said, "Let Brother Jacques come here, and also our messenger."
Ten minutes after both appeared at the door.
"Jacques," said Gorenflot, "I give you a special mission."
"Me!" cried the young man, astonished.
"Yes, you are to accompany M. Robert Briquet on a long journey."
"Oh!" cried he, enthusiastically, "that will be delightful. We shall fight every day—shall we not, monsieur?"
"Yes, my child."
"And I may take my arquebuse?"
"Certainly."
Jacques bounded joyfully from the room.
"As to the message, I beg you to give your orders. Advance, Brother Panurge."
Panurge advanced. He looked intelligent, but like a fox.
"Do you know the Louvre?" said Chicot.
"Yes, monsieur."
"And in the Louvre a certain Henri de Valois?"
"The king?"
"People generally call him so."
"Is it to him that I am to go?"
"Just so. You will ask to speak to him."
"Will they let me?"
"Yes, till you come to his valet-de-chambre. Your frock is a passport, for the king is very religious."
"And what shall I say to the valet-de-chambre?"
"Say you are sent by the shade."
"What shade?"
"Curiosity is a vice, my brother."
"Pardon!"
"Say then that you want the letter."
"What letter?"
"Again!"
"Ah! true."
"You will add that the shade will wait for it, going slowly along the road to Charenton."
"It is on that road, then, that I am to join you?"
"Exactly."
As Panurge went out, Chicot thought he saw some one listening at the door, but could not be sure. He fancied it was Borromée.
"Where do you go?" asked Gorenflot.
"Toward Spain."
"How do you travel?"
"Oh! anyhow; on foot, on horseback, in a carriage—just as it happens."
"Jacques will be good company for you."
"Thanks, my good friend, I have now, I think, only to make my adieux."
"Adieu; I will give you my benediction."
"Bah! it is useless between us."
"You are right; but it does for strangers," and they embraced.
"Jacques!" called the prior, "Jacques!"
Borromée appeared.
"Brother Jacques," repeated the prior.
"Jacques is gone."
"What! gone," cried Chicot.
"Did you not wish some one to go to the Louvre?"
"Yes; but it was Panurge."
"Oh! stupid that I am," cried Borromée, "I understood it to be Jacques."
Chicot frowned, but Borromée appeared so sorry that it was impossible to say much.
"I will wait, then," said he, "till Jacques returns."
Borromée bowed, frowning in his turn. "Apropos," said he, "I forgot to announce to your reverence that the unknown lady has arrived and desires to speak to you."
"Is she alone?" asked Gorenflot.
"No; she has a squire with her."
"Is she young?"
Borromée lowered his eyes. "She seems so," said he.
"I will leave you," said Chicot, "and wait in a neighboring room."
"It is far from here to the Louvre, monsieur, and Jacques may be long, or they may hesitate to confide an important letter to a child."
"You make these reflections rather late," replied Chicot, "however, I will go on the road to Charenton and you can send him after me." And he turned to the staircase.
"Not that way, if you please," said Borromée, "the lady is coming up, and she does not wish to meet any one."
"You are right," said Chicot, smiling, "I will take the little staircase."
"Do you know the way?"
"Perfectly." And Chicot went out through a cabinet which led to another room, from which led the secret staircase. The room was full of armor, swords, muskets, and pistols.
"They hide Jacques from me," thought Chicot, "and they hide the lady, therefore of course I ought to do exactly the opposite of what they want me to do. I will wait for the return of Jacques, and I will watch the mysterious lady. Oh! here is a fine shirt of mail thrown into a corner; it is much too small for the prior, and would fit me admirably. I will borrow it from Gorenflot, and give it to him again when I return." And he quietly put it on under his doublet. He had just finished when Borromée entered.
Chicot pretended to be admiring the arms.
"Is monsieur seeking some arms to suit him?" asked Borromée.
"I! mon Dieu! what do I want with arms?"
"You use them so well."
"Theory, all theory; I may use my arms well, but the heart of a soldier is always wanting in a poor bourgeois like me. But time passes, and Jacques cannot be long; I will go and wait for him at the Croix Faubin."
"I think that will be best."
"Then you will tell him as soon as he comes?"
"Yes."
"And send him after me?"
"I will not fail."
"Thanks, Brother Borromée; I am enchanted to have made your acquaintance."
He went out by the little staircase, and Borromée locked the door behind him.
"I must see the lady," thought Chicot.
He went out of the priory and went on the road he had named; then, when out of sight, he turned back, crept along a ditch and gained, unseen, a thick hedge which extended before the priory. Here he waited to see Jacques return or the lady go out.