How the Monk Confessed the Advocate, and the Advocate the Monk.

At last M. Bernouillet came into Chicot’s room, laughing immoderately.

“He is dying,” said he, “and the man has arrived from Avignon.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Of course.”

“What is he like?”

“Little and thin.”

“It is he,” thought Chicot; and he said, “Tell me about his arrival.”

“An hour ago I was in the kitchen, when I saw a great horse, ridden by a little man, stop before the door. ‘Is M. Nicolas here?’ asked he. ‘Yes, monsieur,’ said I. ‘Tell him that the person he expects from Avignon is here.’ ‘Certainly, monsieur, but I must warn you that he is very ill.’ ‘All the more reason for doing my bidding at once.’ ‘But he has a malignant fever.’ ‘Oh, pray, then, be quick!’ ‘How! you persist?’ ‘I persist.’ ‘In spite of the danger!’ ‘In spite of everything I must see him.’ So I took him to the room, and there he is now. Is it not odd?”

“Very droll.”

“I wish I could hear them.”

“Go in.”

“He forbade me to go in, saying he was going to confess.”

“Listen at the door.”

Bernouillet went, and Chicot went also to his hole: but they spoke so low that he could hear nothing, and in a few minutes Gondy rose and took leave. Chicot ran to the window, and saw a lackey waiting with a horse, which M. de Gondy mounted and rode off.

“If he only has not carried off the genealogy. Never mind, I shall soon catch him if necessary; but I suspect it is left here. Where can Gorenflot be?”

M. Bernouillet returned, saying, “He is gone.”

“The confessor?”

“He is no more a confessor than I am.”

“Will you send me my brother as soon as he comes in.”

“Even if he be drunk?”

“Whatever state he is in.”

Bernouillet went, and Chicot remained in a state of indecision as to what to do, for he thought, “If David is really so ill, he may have sent on the despatches by Gondy.” Presently he heard Gorenflot’s voice, singing a drinking song as he came up the stairs.

“Silence, drunkard!” said Chicot.

“Drunkard, indeed!”

“Yes; but come here and speak seriously, if you can.”

“What is it now?”

“It is, that you never think of the duties of your profession, that you wallow in greediness and drunkenness, and let religion go where it pleases.”

Gorenflot looked astonished. “I!” he gasped.

“Yes, you; you are disgraceful to see; you are covered with mud; you have been drunk in the streets.”

“It is too true!”

“If you go on so, I will abandon you.”

“Chicot, my friend, you will not do that? Am I very guilty?”

“There are archers at Lyons.”

“Oh, pity! my dear protector, pity!”

“Are you a Christian or not?”

“I not a Christian!”

“Then do not let a neighbor die without confession.”

“I am ready, but I must drink first, for I am thirsty.”

Chicot passed him a jug of water, which he emptied.

“Now who am I to confess?”

“Our unlucky neighbor who is dying.”

“Let them give him a pint of wine with honey in it.”

“He needs spiritual aid as well as temporal. Go to him.”

“Am I fit?” said Gorenflot, timidly.

“Perfectly.”

“Then I will go.”

“Stay; I must tell you what to do.”

“Oh! I know.”

“You do not know what I wish.”

“What you wish?”

“If you execute it well, I will give you one hundred pistoles to spend here.”

“What must I do?”

“Listen; your robe gives you authority; in the name of God and the King, summon him to give up the papers he has just received from Avignon.”

“What for?”

“To gain one hundred pistoles, stupid.”

“Ah! true; I go.”

“Wait a minute. He will tell you he has confessed.”

“But if he has?”

“Tell him he lies; that the man who has just left him is no confessor, but an intriguer like himself.”

“But he will be angry.”

“What does that matter, since he is dying?”

“True.”

“Well; one way or the other, you must get hold of those papers.”

“If he refuses?”

“Refuse him absolution, curse him, a............