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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 Borromee 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 Borromee," 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 Borromee 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 Borromee, the monks now formed into lines, while Chicot
sat down on a bench to look on.

Gorenflot stood up. "Attention," whispered Borromee 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 Borromee, softly; "if it please you to spare your precious health,
I will command to-day."

"I should wish it, I am stifling."

Borromee 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 Borromee acts for
you?"

"Oh! mon Dieu, yes."

It was wonderful to see Borromee 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
Borromee gave an order, Gorenflot repeated it, adding:

"Brother Borromee 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 Borromee 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 Borromee.

"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
Borromee, 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. Borromee had the advantage in
height and experience. The blood mounted to the cheeks of Jacques and
animated them with a feverish color. Borromee 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 Borromee
nine; that is well for the scholar, but not so well for the master."

The flash of Borromee'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 Borromee, biting his lips with anger.

"Well! I am sure of it."

"M. Briquet, who is so clever, had better try Jacques himself," replied
Borromee, 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 Borromee, like a wise master, often let Jacques
touch him out of complaisance."

"Ah!" cried Jacques, frowning in his turn.

"No," replied Borromee, "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.




CHAPTER XXII.

THE LESSON.


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
Borromee 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 Borromee, 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 Borromee; 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
Borromee.

"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 Borromee, 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 Borromee.

"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."




CHAPTER XXIII.

THE PENITENT.


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 Borromee.

"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!"

Borromee 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 Borromee, "I understood it to be Jacques."

Chicot frowned, but Borromee appeared so sorry that it was impossible to
say much.

"I will wait, then," said he, "till Jacques returns."

Borromee 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?"

Borromee 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 Borromee, "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
Borromee entered.

Chicot pretended to be admiring the arms.

"Is monsieur seeking some arms to suit him?" asked Borromee.

"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 Borromee; I am enchanted to have made your
acquaintance."

He went out by the little staircase, and Borromee 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.





CHAPTER XXIV.

THE AMBUSH.


Chicot made a slight opening through the hedge, that he might see those
who came and went. The road was almost deserted as far as he could see;
there was no one but a man poorly clothed measuring the ground with a
long, pointed stick. Chicot had nothing to do, and therefore was
preparing to watch this man, when a more important object attracted his
attention.

The window of Gorenflot's room opened with folding-doors on to a
balcony, and Chicot saw them open, and Gorenflot come out, with his most
gallant manner and winning smile, leading a lady almost hidden under a
mantle of velvet and fur.

"Oh!" thought Chicot, "here is the penitent. She looks young; it is very
odd, but I find resemblances in every one I see. And here comes the
squire; as for him, there is no mistake; I know him, and if he be
Mayneville--ventre de biche!--why should not the lady be Madame de
Montpensier? And, morbleu! that woman _is_ the duchess!"

After a moment, he saw the pale head of Borromee behind them.

"What are they about?" thought Chicot; "does the duchess want to board
with Gorenflot?"

At this moment Chicot saw M. de Mayneville make a sign to some one
outside. Chicot looked round, but there was no one to be seen but the
man measuring. It was to him, however, that the sign was addressed, for
he had ceased measuring, and was looking toward the balcony. Borromee
began also to gesticulate behind Mayneville, in a manner unintelligible
to Chicot, but apparently clear to this man, for he went further off,
and stationed himself in another place, where he stopped at a fresh
sign. Then he began to run quickly toward the gate of the priory, while
M. de Mayneville held his watch in his hand.

"Diable!" said Chicot, "this is all very odd."

As the man passed him, he recognized Nicholas Poulain, the man to whom
he had sold his armor the day before. Shortly after, they all re-entered
the room and shut the window, and then the duchess and her squire came
out of the priory and went toward the litter which waited for them.
Gorenflot accompanied them to the door, exhausting himself in bows and
salutations. The curtains of the litter were still open, when a monk, in
whom Chicot recognized Jacques, advanced from the Porte St. Antoine,
approached, and looked earnestly into it. The duchess then went away,
and Nicholas Poulain was following, when Chicot called out from his
hiding place--

"Come here, if you please."

Poulain started, and turned his head.

"Do not seem to notice, M. Nicholas Poulain," said Chicot.

The lieutenant started again. "Who are you, and what do you want?" asked
he.

"I am a friend, new, but intimate; what I want will take long to
explain; come here to me."

"To you?"

"Yes; here in the ditch."

"What for?"

"You shall know when you come."

"But--"

"Come and sit down here, without appearing to notice me."

"Monsieur?"

"Oh! M. Robert Briquet has the right to be exacting."

"Robert Briquet!" cried Poulain, doing as he was desired.

"That is right; it seems you were taking measures in the road."

"I!"

"Yes; there is nothing surprising that you should be a surveyor,
especially as you acted under the eyes of such great people."

"Great people! I do not understand."

"What! you did not know?"

"What do you mean?"

"You did not know who that lady and gentlemen on the balcony were?"

"I declare--"

"Oh! how fortunate I am to be able to enlighten you. Only imagine, M.
Poulain; you had for admirers Madame de Montpensier and M. de
Mayneville. Do not go away. If a still more illustrious person--the
king--saw you--"

"Ah! M. Briquet--"

"Never mind; I am only anxious for your good."

"But what harm have I done to the king, or to you, or anybody?"

"Dear M. Poulain, my ideas may be wrong, but it seems to me that the
king would not approve of his lieutenant of the Provostry acting as
surveyor for M. de Mayneville; and that he might also take it ill that
you should omit in your daily report the entrance of Madame de
Montpensier and M. de Mayneville, yesterday, into his good city of
Paris."

"M. Briquet, an omission is not an offense, and his majesty is too
good--"

"M. Poulain, I see clearer than you, and I see--"

"What?"

"A gallows."

"M. Briquet!"

"And more--a new cord, four soldiers at the four cardinal points, a
number of Parisians around, and a certain lieutenant of my acquaintance
at the end of the cord."

Nicholas Poulain trembled so that he shook the hedge. "Monsieur!" cried
he, clasping his hands.

"But I am your friend, dear M. Poulain, and I will give you a counsel."

"A counsel?"

"Yes; and very easy to follow. Go at once, you understand, to--"

"Whom?"

"Let me think. To M. d'Epernon."

"M. d'Epernon, the king's friend?"

"Take him aside, and tell him all about this."

"This is folly."

"No, it is wisdom. It is clear that if I denounce you as the man of the
cuirasses and measures, they will hang you; but if, on the contrary, you
disclose all, with a good grace, they will reward you. You do not
appear convinced, however. Well! that will give me the trouble of
returning to the Louvre, but I do not mind doing that for you," and he
began to rise.

"No, no; stay here, I will go."

"Good! But you understand, no subterfuges, or to-morrow I shall send a
little note to the king, whose intimate friend I have the honor to be,
so that if you are not hanged till the day after to-morrow, you will
only be hanged the higher."

"I will go; but you abuse your position."

"Oh! M. Poulain, you were a traitor five minutes ago, and I make you the
savior of your country. Now, go quickly, for I am in a hurry. The Hotel
d'Epernon--do not forget."

Nicholas Poulain ran off, with a despairing look.

"Ah! it was time," said Chicot, "for some one is leaving the priory. But
it is not Jacques; that fellow is half as tall again."

Chicot then hastened to the Croix Faubin, where he had given the
rendezvous. The monk, who was there to meet him, was a giant in height;
his monk's robe, hastily thrown on, did not hide his muscular limbs, and
his face bore anything but a religious expression. His arms were as long
as Chicot's own, and he had a knife in his belt.

As Chicot approached, he turned and said, "Are you M. Robert Briquet?"

"I am."

"Then I have a letter for you from the reverend prior."

Chicot took the letter, and read as follows:

"My dear friend, I have reflected since we parted; it is impossible
for me to let the lamb confided to me go among the wolves of the
world. I mean, you understand, our little Jacques, who has
fulfilled your message to the king. Instead of him, who is too
young, I send you a good and worthy brother of our order; his
manners are good, and his humor innocent, and I am sure you will
like him. I send you my benediction. Adieu, dear friend."

"What fine writing," said Chicot; "I will wager it is the treasurer's."

"It was Brother Borromee who wrote it," said the Goliath.

"In that case you will return to the priory, my friend."--"I?"

"Yes; and tell his reverence that I have changed my mind, and intend to
travel alone."

"What! you will not take me, monsieur?" said the man, with astonishment,
mixed with menace.

"No, my friend."

"And why, if you please?"

"Because I must be economical, and you would eat too much."

"Jacques eats as much as I do."

"Yes, but Jacques was a monk."

"And what am I?"

"You, my friend, are a gendarme, or a foot soldier."

"What do you mean? Do you not see my monk's robe?"

"The dress does not make the monk, my friend; tell Brother Borromee
that, if you please."

The giant disappeared, grumbling, like a beaten hound.




CHAPTER XXV.

THE GUISES.


On the evening of the same day on which Chicot set off for Navarre, we
shall find again, in a large room at the Hotel Guise, the person who,
disguised as a page, had entered Paris behind Carmainges, and who was
also, as we know, the penitent of Gorenflot. On this occasion her sex
was disclosed, and, elegantly dressed, with her hair glittering with
precious stones, she was waiting impatiently for some one.

At last a horse's step was heard, and the usher almost immediately
announced M. le Duc de Mayenne. Madame de Montpensier ran to her brother
so hastily that she forgot to proceed on the point of the right foot, as
was her habit, in order to conceal her lameness.

"Are you alone, brother?" asked she.