"You have a handsome helmet there, Brother Borromée," said he; "where did you buy it, my dear prior?" Gorenflot could not reply, for at that moment they were fastening a magnificent cuirass upon him, which, although spacious enough to have covered Hercules, Farnese constrained wofully the undulations of the flesh of the worthy prior, who was crying: "Not so tight! I shall stifle; stop!" But Borromée replied, "It made part of a lot of armor that the reverend prior bought yesterday to arm the convent." "I!" said Gorenflot. "Yes; do you not remember that they brought several cuirasses and casques here, according to your reverence's orders?" "It is true," said Gorenflot. "Ventre de biche!" thought Chicot; "my helmet is much attached to me, for, after having taken it myself to the Hotel Guise, it comes here to meet me again." At a sign from Borromée, the monks now formed into lines, while Chicot sat down on a bench to look on. Gorenflot stood up. "Attention," whispered Borromée to him. Gorenflot drew a gigantic sword from the scabbard, and waving it in the air, cried in the voice of a stentor, "Attention!" "Your reverence will fatigue yourself, perhaps, in giving the orders," said Borromée, softly; "if it please you to spare your precious health, I will command to-day." "I should wish it, I am stifling." Borromée bowed and placed himself at the head of the troop. "What a complaisant servant," said Chicot. "He is charming, I told you so." "I am sure he does the same for you every day." "Oh! every day. He is as submissive as a slave." "So that you have really nothing to do here--Brother Borromée acts for you?" "Oh! mon Dieu, yes." It was wonderful to see Borromée with his arms in his hands, his eye dilated, and his vigorous arm wielding his sword in so skillful a manner that one would have thought him a trained soldier. Each time that Borromée gave an order, Gorenflot repeated it, adding: "Brother Borromée is right; but I told you all that yesterday. Pass the pike from one hand to the other! Raise it to the level of the eye!" "You are a skillful instructor," said Chicot. "Yes, I understand it well." "And Borromée an apt pupil." "Oh, yes! he is very intelligent." While the monks went through their exercises, Gorenflot said, "You shall see my little Jacques." "Who is Jacques?" "A nice lad, calm-looking, but strong, and quick as lightning. Look, there he is with a musket in his hand, about to fire." "And he fires well." "That he does." "But stay--" "Do you know him?" "No; I thought I did, but I was wrong." While they spoke, Jacques loaded a heavy musket, and placing himself at one hundred yards from the mark, fired, and the ball lodged in the center, amid the applause of the monks. "That was well done!" cried Chicot. "Thank you, monsieur," said Jacques, whose cheeks colored with pleasure. "You manage your arms well," added Chicot. "I study, monsieur."