The peasants did not dare to take them; the landlord took the two louis out of the monk’s hand and placed them in that of one of the peasants, all four of whom withdrew, opening their eyes wider than ever. The door was then closed; and, while the innkeeper stood respectfully near it, the Franciscan collected himself for a moment. He then passed across his sallow face a hand which seemed dried up by fever, and rubbed his nervous and agitated fingers across his beard. His large eyes, hollowed by sickness and inquietude, seemed to peruse in the vague distance a mournful and fixed idea. “What physicians have you at Fontainebleau?” he inquired, after a long pause. “We have three, holy father.” “What are their names?” “Luiniguet first.” “The next one?” “A brother of the Carmelite order, named Brother Hubert.” “The next?” “A secular member, named Grisart.” “Ah! Grisart?” murmured the monk, “send for M. Grisart immediately.” The landlord moved in prompt obedience to the direction. “Tell me what priests are there here?” “What priests?” “Yes; belonging to what orders?” “There are Jesuits, Augustines, and Cordeliers; but the Jesuits are the closest at hand. Shall I send for a confessor belonging to the order of Jesuits?” “Yes, immediately.” It will be imagined that, at the sign of the cross which they had exchanged, the landlord and the invalid monk had recognized each other as two affiliated members of the well-known Society of Jesus. Left to himself, the Franciscan drew from his pocket a bundle of papers, some of which he read over with the most careful attention. The violence of his disorder, however, overcame his courage; his eyes rolled in their sockets, a cold sweat poured down his face, and he nearly fainted, and lay with his head thrown backwards and his arms hanging down on both sides of his chair. For more than five minutes he remained without any movement, when the landlord returned, bringing with him the physician, whom he hardly allowed time to dress himself. The noise they made in entering the room, the current of air, which the opening of the door occasioned, restored the Franciscan to his senses. He hurriedly seized hold of the papers which were lying about, and with his long and bony hand concealed them under the cushions of the chair. The landlord went out of the room, leaving patient and physician together. “Come here, Monsieur Grisart,” said the Franciscan to the doctor; “approach closer, for there is no time to lose. Try, by touch and sound, and consider and pronounce your sentence.” “The landlord,” replied the doctor, “told me I had the honor of attending an affiliated brother.” “Yes,” replied the Franciscan, “it is so. Tell me the truth, then; I feel very ill, and I think I am about to die.” The physician took the monk’s hand, and felt his pulse. “Oh, oh,” he said, “a dangerous fever.” “What do you call a dangerous fever?” inquired the Franciscan, with an imperious look.