"Pagolo, my friend," said the master, shaking his head more in sadness than in anger, "you would do better, believe me, to work more assiduously and heartily through the week, and enjoy yourself on Sunday like a good comrade, than to idle as you do on ordinary days, and hypocritically set yourself apart from the others by feigning so much ardor in your work on fete-days; but you are your own master, act as seems good to you. And thou sayest, Ascanio, my child?" he continued in a tone in which infinite gentleness and affection were mingled. "I say that I have found a magnificent workshop for you." "Where?" "Do you know the Hôtel de Nesle?" "Perfectly; that is, by having passed before it, for I have never been within the door." "But is its exterior attractive in your eyes?" "Pardieu! it is indeed. But--" "But what?" "But does no one occupy it, pray?" "Marry, yes, Monsieur the Provost of Paris, Messire Robert d'Estourville, who has taken possession of it without right. Moreover, to satisfy your scruples on that head, we might with great propriety leave him the Petit-Nesle, where some one of his family now dwells, I think, and be content ourselves with the Grand-Nesle, and its courtyards, lawns, and bowling-greens and tennis-court." "There is a tennis-court?" "Finer than that of Santa-Croce at Florence." "Per Bacco! and it is my favorite game; thou didst know that, Ascanio." "Yes; and then, master, over and above all that, a superb location; air everywhere; and such air! perfect country air, and not such as we get here in this infernal corner, where we are moulding, forgotten by the sun. The Pré-aux-Clercs on one side, the Seine on the other, and the king, your great king, only two steps away, in his Louvre." "But whose is this devil of a hotel?" "Whose, say you? Pardieu! the king's." "The king's! Say me that once more, my child,--the Hôtel de Nesle is the king's!" "His own; now it remains to ascertain if he will give you so magnificent a dwelling-place." "Who, the king? How do men call the king, Ascanio! "Why, François I. if I am not mistaken." "Which means that the Hôtel de Nesle will be my property within the week." "But it may be that the Provost of Paris will take offence." "What care I for that?" "But suppose he will not let go what he has in his hand?" "Suppose he will not!--What do men call me, Ascanio?" "They call you Benvenuto Cellini, master." "Which means that if the worthy provost will not do things with good grace, why, we will use force to compel him to do them. And now let us to bed. To-morrow we'll speak further on the matter, and then the sun will shine, and we shall see more clearly." At the master's suggestion all retired except Pagolo, who remained for some time at work in his corner; but as soon as he believed that all were safely in bed, the apprentice rose, looked about, drew near the table, and poured for himself a large cup of wine, which he swallowed at a draught. Then he too went off to bed.