“Do not mix yourself with what does not concern you,” replied Chicot, without seeming to recognize him. But a new influx of the crowd distracted the attention of La Hurière, and separated the king and his companions from the hotel. “Why are you here, sire?” said Chicot. “Do you think I have anything to fear?” “Eh! mon Dieu! in a crowd like this it is so easy for one man to put a knife into his neighbor, and who just utters an oath and gives up the ghost.” “Have I been seen?” “I think not; but you will be if you stay longer. Go back to the Louvre, sire.” “Oh! oh! what is this new outcry, and what are the people running for?” Chicot looked, but could at first see nothing but a mass of people crying, howling, and pushing. At last the mass opened, and a monk, mounted on a donkey, appeared. The monk spoke and gesticulated, and the ass brayed. “Ventre de biche!” cried Chicot, “listen to the preacher.” “A preacher on a donkey!” cried Quelus. “Why not?” “He is Silenus,” said Maugiron. “Which is the preacher?” said the king, “for they speak both at once.” “The underneath one is the most eloquent,” said Chicot, “but the one at the top speaks the best French; listen, Henri.” “My brethren,” said the monk, “Paris is a superb city; Paris is the pride of France, and the Parisians a fine people.” Then he began to sing, but the ass mingled his accompaniment so loudly that he was obliged to stop. The crowd burst out laughing. “Hold your tongue, Panurge, hold your tongue,” cried the monk, “you shall speak after, but let me speak first.” The ass was quiet. “My brothers,” continued the preacher, “the earth is a valley of grief, where man often pan quench his thirst only with his tears.” “He is drunk,” said the king. “I should think so.” “I, who speak to you,” continued the monk, “I am returning from exile like the Hebrews of old, and for eight days Panurge and I have been living on alms and privations.” “Who is Panurge?” asked the king. “The superior of his convent, probably but let me listen.” “Who made me endure this? It was Herod; you know what Herod I speak of. I and Panurge have come from Villeneuve-le-Roi, in three days, to assist at this great solemnity; now we see, but we do not understand. What is passing, my brothers? Is it to-day that they depose Herod? Is it to-day that they put brother Henri in a convent?--Gentlemen,” continued he, “I left Paris with two friends; Panurge, who is my ass, and Chicot, who is his majesty’s jester. Can you tell me what has become of my friend Chicot?” Chicot made a grimace. “Oh,” said the king, “he is your friend.” Quelus and Maugiron burst out laughing. “He is handsome and respectable,” continued the king. “It is Gorenflot, of whom M. de Morvilliers spoke to you.” “The incendiary of St. Geneviève?” “Himself!” “Then I will have him hanged!” “Impossible!” “Why?” “He has no neck.”