“A decree of the Court of Requests, granting the forfeited lands of Chaumont and Duras to that loyal servant of the King, that faithful shepherd of his flock, Achon, Abbot of St. Savin, Bishop of Arles, and Archbishop designate of Sens.” With that the jester rose as if to go, but Quesnay pulled at his cloak. “Sit down,” he said, “and give us a song--our blood runs blue with this talk.” But Brusquet shook his head, while his strange, wrinkled face seemed to become more and more sharp and acute, as he pointed in the direction of the palace, where the dead King lay, and his voice shook a little as he answered: “Not to-night. There is some one lies there who loved to listen to me, and who will listen no more; but he is still too near for me to sing.” So saying, he flung a couple of gold pieces on the table, and, turning, stepped out of the room. He was followed by the others. Outside I heard their voices for a moment in laughing converse, and then they were gone. And I--I sat there, my head buried in my bosom burning with remorse, half mad with the tortures of memory. Marcilly was to die with to-morrow’s light. The words seemed to hiss in my ears, and I--I had slain him with a Judas kiss. Oh! I had got my revenge--but where was its sweetness? I had plucked my Dead Sea fruit, and the ashes of it were sere and bitter in my mouth. I called for some Cognac, and sought to obtain a temporary release from my mental tortures in the disgraceful oblivion of the drunken; but the fiery spirit had no more effect upon me than if it had been water. Sitting still became intolerable, so, paying my account, I went out again into the night. I sought the city gates once more, but they were closed, and, with a curse, I turned and retraced my steps. I was caged in Orleans for the night. I again approached the cabaret, and stood hesitating at the door. Then the thought of the conversation I had overheard came upon me, and I turned away and hastened onward, going I did not know where--and, indeed, I cared not. With the tireless persistence of a madman, I walked for hours through street and square and alley. I walked fast, seeking to weary myself, taking no notice of anything, and must have made the circuit of the city at least twice. It was late now. The hum of voices, the bustle of tramping feet had died away, and I was alone on those gray roads, that stretched, wound, turned, and twisted in all directions around me. Above floated the moon in a cloudless sky, serene and stately, and under its ivory light I plodded on, feverish and tireless, until at last I came to a halt near the cloisters at the back of Ste. Croix.