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The day finished at Muroy, where the gentlemen of the country gave a grand supper to the king, of which Chicot took his part enthusiastically, as it had not been deemed necessary to stop on the road for anything so unimportant as dinner, and he had eaten nothing since he had left Nerac.
"I never got tipsy on that wine; it would be agreeable." "You shall to-night. But now ramble about the town." "But the supper?" "I shall be ready against your return; here is a crown meanwhile." Gorenflot went off quite happy, and then Chicot made, with a gimlet, a hole in the partition at about the height of his eye.
"Why, Chicot, what does all this mean?" said the king. "Sire, it means that Chicot is like the fox that he licks the stones where his blood fell, until against those very stones he crushes the heads of those who spilt it." "Explain yourself." "Sire, in that house lived a girl whom Chicot loved, a good and charming creature, and a lady.
And leaving Chicot, he went to the king's apartment. "Where is the king?" he asked: "I have to render an account to him of the execution of some orders he gave me." "With M. le Duc d'Anjou," replied the man. "With the Duke; then he is not dead?" "I am not so sure of that." M. de Monsoreau was thoroughly bewildered; for if M. d'Anjou were in the Louvre, his absence on such a day was unaccountable.
Unluckily, I am in a hurry; make an exception to your rule, and let me pass, I beg." "You will lose yourself, M. Chicot; Nerac is a strange town. Allow three of my men to conduct you to the palace." "But I am not going there, I tell you." "Where are you going, then?" "I cannot sleep well at night, and then I always walk. Nerac is a charming city, and I wish to see it."
"By the Holy Communion," said she, when Chicot had finished, "my brother writes well in Latin! What vehemence! what style! I should never have believed him capable of it. But do you not understand it, M. Chicot? I thought you were a good Latin scholar."
Then the king, getting half out of bed, saw a man sitting in the very chair which he had pointed out to D'Epernon. "Heaven protect me!" cried he; "it is the shade of Chicot." "Ah! my poor Henriquet, are you still so foolish?" "What do you mean?" "That shades cannot speak, having no body, and consequently no tongue." "Then you are Chicot, himself?" cried the king, joyfully. "Do not be too sure."
"Eh! ventre de biche! you see very well that I do know it," exclaimed Chicot, feeling triumphant at having disentangled this secret, which was of such importance for him to learn, from the provoking intricacies in which it had been at first involved. "In that case," returned Jacques, "you see very well, Monsieur Briquet, that I am not guilty."
"Mon Dieu, yes; that is what got into the head of that devil of a Béarnais." "Go on, Chicot," said the king, beginning to look annoyed. "Well! scarcely had he guessed that, than he became what you look now, sad and melancholy; so much so, that he hardly thought of Fosseuse." "Bah!" "Yes, really, and then he conceived that other love I told you of." "But this man is a Turk a Pagan.
When Chicot came again to receive her answer she took a lot of persuading, and declared that she could not make up her mind to agree to his proposal, though she was all the time on tenter-hooks lest he should not consent to give the fifty crowns: but at last, when he grew urgent, she told him what she expected for her farm. He looked surprised and disappointed, and refused.
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