"The prior sleeps still, Father Borromée," said he: "shall we wake him?" "On no account, Brother Jacques." "Really, it is a pity to have a prior who sleeps so long, for we might have tried the arms this morning. Did you notice what beautiful cuirasses and arquebuses there were among them?" "Silence! brother; you will be heard." "How unlucky," cried the young man, impatiently, stamping his feet, "it is so fine to-day, and the court is so dry." "We must wait, my child," replied Borromée, with a submission his glance belied. "But why do you not order them to distribute the arms?" "I, order!" "Yes, you." "You know that I am not the master here; there is the master." "Yes, asleep, when every one else is awake," replied Jacques, impatiently. "Let us respect his sleep," said Borromée, overturning a chair, however, as he spoke. At the sound, Gorenflot looked up and said, sleepily, "Who is there?" "Pardon us," said Borromée, "if we interrupt your pious meditations, but I have come to take your orders." "Ah! good-morning, Brother Borromée; what orders do you want?" "About the arms." "What arms?" "Those which your reverence ordered to be brought here." "I, and when?" "About a week ago." "I ordered arms?" "Without doubt," replied Borromée, firmly. "And what for?" "Your reverence said to me, 'Brother Borromée, it would be wise to procure arms for the use of the brethren; gymnastic exercises develop the bodily forces, as pious exhortations do those of the soul.'" "I said that?" "Yes, reverend prior; and I, an unworthy but obedient brother, hastened to obey." "It is strange, but I remember nothing about it." "You even added this text, '_Militat spiritu, militat gladio._'" "What!" cried Gorenflot, "I added that text!" "I have a faithful memory," said Borromée, lowering his eyes. "Well, if I said so, of course I had my reasons for it. Indeed, that has always been my opinion." "Then I will finish executing your orders, reverend prior," said Borromée, retiring with Jacques. "Go," said Gorenflot, majestically. "Ah!" said Borromée, "I had forgotten; there is a friend in the parlor who asks to see your reverence." "What is his name?" "M. Robert Briquet." "Oh! he is not a friend; only an acquaintance." "Then your reverence will not see him?" "Oh, yes! let him come up; he amuses me." CHAPTER XIX. THE TWO FRIENDS. When Chicot entered, the prior did not rise, but merely bent his head. "Good-morning," said Chicot. "Ah! there you are; you appear to have come to life again." "Did you think me dead?" "Diable! I never saw you." "I was busy." "Ah!" Chicot knew that before being warmed by two or three bottles of old Burgundy, Gorenflot was sparing of his words; and so, considering the time of the morning, it was probable that he was still fasting, Chicot sat down to wait. "Will you breakfast with me, M. Briquet?" asked Gorenflot. "Perhaps."