At this moment M. Boutromet entered with the omelet and two more bottles. “Bring it here,” cried the monk, with a smile, which showed his thirty-two teeth. “But, friend, I thought you had a discourse to pronounce.” “It is here,” cried Gorenflot, striking his forehead. “At half-past nine.” “I lied; it was ten.” “Ten! I thought the abbey shut at nine.” “Let it shut; I have a key.” “A key of the abbey!” “Here, in my pocket.” “Impossible; I know the monastic rules. They would not give the key to a simple monk.” “Here it is,” said Gorenflot, showing a piece of money. “Oh, money! you corrupt the porter to go in when you please, wretched sinner! But what strange money!” “An effigy of the heretic, with a hole through his heart.” “Yes, I see it is a tester of the Béarn king’s, and here is a hole.” “A blow with a dagger. Death to the heretic. He who does it is sure of Paradise.” “He is not yet drunk enough;” so thought Chicot; and he filled his glass again. “To the mass!” cried Gorenflot, drinking it off. Chicot remembered the porter looking at the hands of the monks, and said-- “Then, if you show this to the porter----” “I enter.” “Without difficulty?” “As this wine into my stomach.” And the monk absorbed a new dose. “And you pronounce your discourse?” “And I pronounce my discourse. I arrive--do you hear? The assembly is numerous and select. There are barons, counts, and dukes.” “And even princes?” “And even princes. I enter humbly among the faithful of the Union----” “The Union--what does that mean?” “I enter; they call Brother Gorenflot, and I advance----” At these words the monk rose. “And I advance,” continued he, trying to do so, but at the first step he rolled on the floor. “Bravo!” cried Chicot; “you advance, you salute the audience and say----” “No, it is my friends who say, Brother Gorenflot--a fine name for a leaguer, is it not?” “A leaguer,” thought Chicot: “what truths is this wine going to bring out?” “Then I begin.” And the monk rose, and leaned against the wall. “You begin,” said Chicot, holding him up. “I begin, ‘My brothers, it is a good day for the faith, a very good day, my brothers; it is a very good day for the faith.’” After this, as Chicot loosed his hold, Gorenflot fell full length again on the floor, and before many minutes a loud snoring was heard. “Good,” said Chicot, “he is in for twelve hours sleep. I can easily undress him.” He then untied the monk’s robe, and pulled it off; then rolled Gorenflot in the tablecloth, and covered his head with a napkin, and hiding the monk’s frock under his cloak, passed into the kitchen. “M. Boutromet,” said he, “here is for our supper, and for my horse; and pray do not wake the worthy Brother Gorenflot, who sleeps sound.” “No, no; be easy, M. Chicot.”