Chicot was not the only person who was seeking for the Duc d’Anjou, and unquiet at his absence. The Guises had also sought for him on all sides, but they were not more lucky than Chicot. M. d’Anjou was not the man to risk himself imprudently, and we shall see afterwards what precautions had kept him from his friends. Once Chicot thought he had found him in the Rue Bethisy; a numerous group was standing at the door of a wine-merchant; and in this group Chicot recognized M. de Monsoreau and M. de Guise, and fancied that the Duc d’Anjou could not be far off. But he was wrong. MM. de Monsoreau and Guise were occupied in exciting still more an orator in his stammering eloquence. 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 in an instant cut the bridles of some of the horses that were fastened up, and giving them each a violent blow, sent them galloping among the crowd, which opened, and began to disperse in different directions. Chicot passed quickly through the groups, and approaching Gorenflot, took Panurge by the bridle and turned him round. The Duc de Guise was already separated from them by the rush of the people, and Chicot led off Gorenflot to a kind of cul-de-sac by the church of St. Germain l’Auxerrois. “Ah! drunkard!” said he to him, “ah! traitor! you will then always prefer a bottle of wine to your friend.’ “Ah! M. Chicot,” stammered the monk. “What! I feed you, wretch, I give you drink, I fill your pockets and your stomach, and you betray me.” “Ah! M. Chicot!” “You tell my secrets, wretch.” “Dear friend.” “Hold your tongue; you are but a sycophant, and deserve punishment.” And the monk, vigorous and strong, powerful as a bull, but overcome by wine and repentance, remained without defending himself in the hands of Chicot, who shook him like a balloon full of air. “A punishment to me, to your friend, dear M. Chicot!” “Yes, to you,” said Chicot, striking him over the shoulders with his stick. “Ah! if I were but fasting.” “You would beat me, I suppose; I, your friend.” “My friend! and you treat me thus!” “He who loves well chastises well,” said Chicot, redoubling his proofs of friendship. “Now,” said he, “go and sleep at the Corne d’Abondance.” “I can no longer see my way,” cried the monk, from whose eyes tears were falling. “Ah!” said Chicot, “if you wept for the wine you have drunk! However, I will guide you.” And taking the ass by the bridle, he led him to the hotel, where two men assisted Gorenflot to dismount, and led him up to the room which our readers already know. “It is done,” said the host, returning. “He is in bed?” “Yes, and snoring.”