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"I begin, 'My brothers, it is a good day for the faith, a very good day, my brothers; it is a very good day for the faith." After this, as Chicot loosed his hold, Gorenflot fell full length again on the floor, and before many minutes a loud snoring was heard. "Good," said Chicot, "he is in for twelve hours sleep. I can easily undress him."
The outline in question paused for a moment to look up at the same window at which Chicot had been gazing. "Oh! oh!" he murmured; "if I am not mistaken, that is the frock of a Jacobin friar. Is Maitre Gorenflot so lax, then, in his discipline as to allow his sheep to go strolling about at such an hour of the night as this, and at such a distance from the priory?"
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.
Chicot divided his time between the king, whom he watched like a child, and his friend Gorenflot, whom he had persuaded to return to his convent. He passed hours with him in his cell, always bringing with him large bottles in his pocket, and the report begin to be spread that Gorenflot had nearly persuaded him to turn monk.
This orator was Gorenflot, recounting his journey to Lyons, and his duel in an inn with a dreadful Huguenot. M. de Guise was listening intently, for he began to fancy it had something to do with the silence of Nicolas David. Chicot was terrified; he felt sure that in another moment Gorenflot would pronounce his name, which would throw a fatal light on the mystery.
Chicot watched Nicolas David into the principal hotel of the place, and then said to Gorenflot, "Go in and bargain for a private room, say that you expect your brother, then come out and wait about for me, and I will come in when it is dark, and you can bring me straight to my room. Do you understand?" "Perfectly."
Daylight, when it came, succeeded in at last awakening Gorenflot, who sat up, and began to look about him, at the remains of their last night's repast, and at Chicot, who, although also awake, lay pretending to snore, while, in reality, he watched. "Broad daylight!" said the monk. "Corbleu, I must have passed the night here. And the abbey! Oh, dear!
"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."
"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!"
He then untied the monk's robe, and pulled it off; then rolled Gorenflot in the tablecloth, and covered his head with a napkin, and hiding the monk's frock under his cloak, passed into the kitchen. "M. Boutromet," said he, "here is for our supper, and for my horse; and pray do not wake the worthy Brother Gorenflot, who sleeps sound." "No, no; be easy, M. Chicot." Then Chicot ran to the rue St.
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