“Broad daylight!” said the monk. “Corbleu, I must have passed the night here. And the abbey! Oh, dear! How happy he is to sleep thus!” cried he, looking at Chicot. “Ah! he is not in my position,” and he sighed. “Shall I wake him to ask for advice? No, no, he will laugh at me; I can surely invent a falsehood without him. But whatever I invent, it will be hard to escape punishment. It is not so much the imprisonment, it is the bread and water I mind. Ah! if I had but some money to bribe the brother jailer.” Chicot, hearing this, adroitly slipped his purse from his pocket and put it under him. This precaution was not useless, for Gorenflot, who had been looking about him, now approached his friend softly, and murmuring: “Were he awake, he would not refuse me a crown, but his sleep is sacred, and I will take it,” advanced, and began feeling his pockets. “It is singular,” said he, “nothing in his pockets. Ah! in his hat, perhaps.” While he searched there Chicot adroitly emptied out his money, and stuffed the empty purse into his breeches pocket. “Nothing in the hat,” said the monk. “Ah! I forgot,” and thrusting in his hand, he drew from the pocket the empty purse. “Mon Dieu,” cried he, “empty! and who will pay the bill?” This thought terrified him so much that he got up and made instantly for the door, through which he quickly disappeared. As he approached the convent, his fears grew strong, and seeing a concourse of monks standing talking on the threshold, he felt inclined to fly. But some of them approached to meet him; he knew flight was hopeless, and resigned himself. The monks seemed at first to hesitate to speak to him, but at last one said: “Poor dear brother!” Gorenflot sighed, and raised his eyes to Heaven. “You know the prior waits for you?” “Ah! mon Dieu!” “Oh! yes; he ordered that you should be brought to him as soon as you came in.” “I feared it,” said Gorenflot. And more dead than alive, he entered the convent, whose doors closed on him. They led him to the prior. Gorenflot did not dare to raise his eyes, finding himself alone with his justly irritated superior. “Ah! it is you at last,” said the abbé. “Reverend sir----” “What anxiety you have given me.” “You are too good, my father,” said Gorenflot, astonished at this indulgent tone. “You feared to come in after the scene of last night?” “I confess it.” “Ah, dear brother, you have been very imprudent.” “Let me explain, father.” “There is no need of explanations; your sally----” “Oh! so much the better,” thought Gorenflot. “I understand it perfectly. A moment of enthusiasm carried you away; enthusiasm is a holy virtue, but virtues, exaggerated become almost vices, and the most honorable sentiments, when carried to excess, are reprehensible.” “Pardon, my father,” said Gorenflot, timidly, “but I do not understand. Of what sally do you speak?” “Of yours last night.” “Out of the convent?”