“Well, I see you and your relation are holy people; I also know La Hurière. Then you say this monk----” “Had the imprudence to preach against the Huguenots, and with so much success that the king wanted to put him in prison.” “And then?” “Ma foi, I carried him off.” “And you did well.” “M. de Guise offered to protect him.” “What! the great Henri?” “Himself; but I feared civil war.” “If you are friends of M. de Guise, you know this;” and he made a sort of masonic sign by which the leaguers recognized each other. Chicot, who had seen both this and the answer to it twenty times during that famous night, replied, “And you this?” “Then,” said the innkeeper, “you are at home here; my house is yours, look on me as a brother, and if you have no money----” Chicot drew out his purse. The sight of a well-filled purse is always agreeable, even to a generous host. “Our journey,” continued Chicot, “is paid for by the treasurer of the Holy Union, for we travel to propagate the faith. Tell us of an inn where we may be safe.” “Nowhere more so than here, and if you wish it, the other traveler shall turn out.” “Oh! no; it is better to have your enemies near, that you may watch them. But, what makes you think he is our enemy?” “Well! first he came disguised as a lackey, then he put on an advocate’s dress, and I am sure he is no more an advocate than he is a lackey, for I saw a long rapier under his cloak. Then he avowed he had a mission from the king!” “From Herod, as I call him.” “Sardanapalus.” “Bravo!” “Ah! I see we understand each other.” “Then we are to remain here?” “I should think so.” “Not a word about my relation.” “Of course not.” “Nor of me.” “Oh, no! But hush! here is some one.” “Oh, it is the worthy man himself!” The host turned to Gorenflot, and made a sign of the leaguers. Gorenflot was struck with terror and astonishment. “Reply, my brother,” said Chicot; “he is a member.” “Of what?” “Of the Holy Union,” said Bernouillet, in a low tone. “You see all is safe; reply,” said Chicot. Gorenflot replied, to the great joy of the innkeeper. “But,” said Gorenflot, who did not like the conversation, “you promised me some sherry.” “Sherry, Malaga, Alicant--every wine in my cellar is at your disposal.” Gorenflot looked at Chicot in amazement. For three following days Gorenflot got drunk, first on sherry, next on Malaga, then on Alicant; afterwards he declared he liked Burgundy best, and returned to that. Meanwhile, Chicot had never stirred from his room, and had constantly watched Nicolas David, who, having appointed to meet Pierre de Gondy at this inn, would not leave the house. On the morning of the sixth day he declared himself ill, and the next day worse. Bernouillet came joyfully to tell Chicot. “What! do you think him in danger?” “High fever, my dear brother; he is delirious, and tried to strangle me and beat my servants. The doctors do not understand his complaint.” “Have you seen him?”