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He soon arrived at the opposite bank, where he fastened his boat. On
entering the Rue des Augustins, he was struck by the sound of
instruments and voices in the street at that late hour.

"Is there a wedding here?" thought he, "I have not long to sleep, and
now this will keep me awake."

As he advanced, he saw a dozen flambeaux carried by pages, while thirty
musicians were playing on different instruments. The band was stationed
before a house, that Chicot, with surprise, recognized as his own. He
remained for an instant stupefied, and then said to himself, "There must
be some mistake; all this noise cannot be for me. Unless, indeed, some
unknown princess has suddenly fallen in love with me."

This supposition, flattering as it was, did not appear to convince
Chicot, and he turned toward the house facing his, but it showed no
signs of life.

"They must sleep soundly, there," said he; "such a noise is enough to
wake the dead."

"Pardon me, my friend," said he, addressing himself to a torch-bearer,
"but can you tell me, if you please, who all this music is for?"

"For the bourgeois who lives there." replied he, pointing out to Chicot
his own house.

"Decidedly it is for me!" thought he. "Whom do you belong to?" he asked.

"To the bourgeois who lives there."

"Ah! they not only come for me, but they belong to me--still better.
Well! we shall see," and piercing through the crowd, he opened his door,
went upstairs, and appeared at his balcony, in which he placed a chair
and sat down.

"Gentlemen," said he, "are you sure there is no mistake? is all this
really for me?"

"Are you M. Robert Briquet?"

"Himself."

"Then we are at your service, monsieur," said the leader of the band,
giving the sign to recommence.

"Certainly it is unintelligible," thought Chicot. He looked around; all
the inhabitants of the street were at their windows, excepting those of
the opposite house, which, as we have said, remained dark and quiet. But
on glancing downward, he saw a man wrapped in a dark cloak, and who wore
a black hat with a red feather, leaning against the portico of his own
door, and looking earnestly at the opposite house.

The leader of the band just then quitted his post and spoke softly to
this man, and Chicot instantly guessed that here lay all the interest of
the scene. Soon after, a gentleman on horseback, followed by two
squires, appeared at the corner of the street, and pushed his way
through the crowd, while the music stopped.

"M. de Joyeuse," murmured Chicot, who recognized him at once.

The cavalier approached the gentleman under the balcony.

"Well! Henri," said he, "what news?"

"Nothing, brother."--"Nothing?"

"No; she has not even appeared."

"They have not made noise enough."

"They have roused all the neighborhood."

"They did not cry as I told them, that it was all in honor of this
bourgeois."

"They cried it so loud, that there he is, sitting in his balcony,
listening."

"And she has not appeared?"

"Neither she, nor any one."

"The idea was ingenious, however, for she might, like the rest of the
people, have profited by the music given to her neighbor."

"Ah! you do not know her, brother."

"Yes, I do; or at all events I know women, and as she is but a woman, we
will not despair."

"Ah! you say that in a discouraged tone, brother."

"Not at all; only give the bourgeois his serenade every night."

"But she will go away."

"Not if you do not speak to her, or seem to be doing it on her account,
and remain concealed. Has the bourgeois spoken?"

"Yes, and he is now speaking again."

"Hold your tongue up there and go in," cried Joyeuse, out of humor.
"Diable! you have had your serenade, so keep quiet."

"My serenade! that is just what I want to know the meaning of; to whom
is it addressed?"

"To your daughter."

"I have none."--"To your wife, then."

"Thank God, I am not married."

"Then to yourself, and if you do not go in--" cried Joyeuse, advancing
with a menacing air.

"Ventre de biche! but if the music be for me--"

"Old fool!" growled Joyeuse. "If you do not go in and hide your ugly
face they shall break their instruments over your head."

"Let the man alone, brother," said Henri, "the fact is, he must be very
much astonished."

"Oh! but if we get up a quarrel, perhaps she will look to see what is
the matter; we will burn his house down, if necessary."

"No, for pity's sake, brother, do not let us force her attention; we are
beaten, and must submit."

Chicot, who heard all, was mentally preparing the means of defense, but
Joyeuse yielded to his brother's request, and dismissed the pages and
musicians.

Then he said to his brother, "I am in despair; all conspires against
us."

"What do you mean?"

"I have no longer time to aid you."

"I see now that you are in traveling dress; I did not remark it before."

"I set off to-night for Antwerp, by desire of the king."

"When did he give you the order?"

"This evening."

"Mon Dieu!"

"Come with me, I entreat."

"Do you order me, brother?" said Henri, turning pale at the thought.

"No; I only beg you."

"Thank you, brother. If I were forced to give up passing my nights under
this window."

"Well?"

"I should die."

"You are mad."

"My heart is here, brother; my life is here."

Joyeuse crossed his arms with a mixture of anger and pity. "If our
father," he said, "begged you to let yourself be attended by Miron, who
is at once a philosopher and a doctor?"

"I should reply to my father that I am well and that my brain is sound,
and that Miron cannot cure love sickness."

"Well, then, Henri, I must make the best of it. She is but a woman, and
at my return I hope to see you more joyous than myself."

"Yes, yes, my good brother, I shall be cured--I shall be happy, thanks
to your friendship, which is my most precious possession."

"After your love."

"Before my life."

Joyeuse, much touched, interrupted him.

"Let us go, brother," said he.

"Yes, brother, I follow you," said Du Bouchage, sighing.

"Yes, I understand; the last adieux to the window; but you have also one
for me, brother."

Henri passed his arms round the neck of his brother, who leaned down to
embrace him.

"No!" cried he. "I will accompany you to the gates," and with a last
look toward the window, he followed his brother.

Chicot continued to watch. Gradually every one disappeared, and the
street was deserted. Then one of the windows of the opposite house was
opened, and a man looked out.

"There is no longer any one, madame," said he; "you may leave your
hiding-place and go down to your own room," and lighting a lamp, he gave
it into a hand stretched out to receive it.

Chicot looked earnestly, but as he caught sight of her pale but sublime
face, he shuddered and sat down, entirely subjugated, in his turn, by
the melancholy influence of the house.




CHAPTER XVII.

CHICOT'S PURSE.


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."




CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PRIORY OF THE JACOBINS.


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 Borromee, 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 Borromee," 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 Borromee, 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 Borromee, overturning a chair, however,
as he spoke.

At the sound, Gorenflot looked up and said, sleepily, "Who is there?"

"Pardon us," said Borromee, "if we interrupt your pious meditations, but
I have come to take your orders."

"Ah! good-morning, Brother Borromee; 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 Borromee, firmly.

"And what for?"

"Your reverence said to me, 'Brother Borromee, 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 Borromee, 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
Borromee, retiring with Jacques.

"Go," said Gorenflot, majestically.

"Ah!" said Borromee, "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."




CHAPTER XIX.

THE TWO FRIENDS.


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 Borromee."

"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."'




CHAPTER XX.

THE BREAKFAST.


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 Borromee, who comes to take my orders."

Indeed, as he spoke, Borromee 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."




CHAPTER XXI.

BROTHER BORROMEE.