How Brother Gorenflot Found Himself More than Ever Between a Gallows and an Abbey.

The guard placed to catch the conspirators got none of them; they all escaped, as we have seen; therefore, when Crillon at last broke open the door, he found the place deserted and empty. In vain they opened doors and windows; in vain the king cried, “Chicot!” No one answered.

“Can they have killed him?” said he. “Mordieu! if they have they shall pay for it!”

Chicot did not reply, because he was occupied in beating M. de Mayenne, which gave him so much pleasure that he neither heard nor saw what was passing. However, when the duke had disappeared, he heard and recognized the royal voice.

“Here, my son, here!” he cried, trying at the same time to raise Gorenflot, who, beginning to recover himself, cried, “Monsieur Chicot!”

“You are not dead, then?”

“My good M. Chicot, you will not give me up to my enemies?”

“Wretch!”

Gorenflot began to howl and wring his hands.

“I, who have had so many good dinners with you,” continued Gorenflot; “I, who drank so well, that you always called me the king of the sponges; I, who loved so much the capons you used to order at the Corne d’Abondance, that I never left anything but the bones.”

This climax appeared sublime to Chicot, and determined him to clemency.

“Here they are! Mon Dieu,” cried Gorenflot, vainly trying to rise, “here they come, I am lost! Oh! good M. Chicot, help me!” and finding he could not rise, he threw himself with his face to the ground.

“Get up,” said Chicot.

“Do you pardon me?”

“We shall see.”

“You have beaten me so much.”

Chicot laughed; the poor monk fancied he had received the blows given to Mayenne.

“You laugh, M. Chicot.”

“I do, animal.”

“Then I shall live?”

“Perhaps.”

“You would not laugh if your Gorenflot was about to die.”

“It does not depend upon me, but on the king; he alone has the power of life and death.”

At this moment lights appeared, and a crowd of embroidered dresses and swords shining in the light of the torches.

“Ah! Chicot! my dear Chicot, how glad I am to see you,” cried the king.

“You hear, good M. Chicot,” whispered Gorenflot, “this great prince is glad to see you.”

“Well?”

“Well! in his happiness he would not refuse you a favor; ask for my pardon.”

“What! from Herod?”

“Oh! silence, dear M. Chicot.”

“Well! sire, how many have you caught?” said Chicot, advancing.

“Confiteor,” said Gorenflot.

“Not one,” said Crillon, “the traitors must have found some opening unknown to us.”

“It is probable.”

“But you saw them?” said the king.

“All.”

“You recognized them, no doubt?”

“No, sire.”

“Not recognized them?”

“That is to say, I recognized only one.”

“Who was that?”

“M. de Mayenne.”

“M. de Mayenne, to whom you owed ——”

“Yes, sire; we are quits.”

“Ah! tell me about that, Chicot.”

“Afterwards, my son; now let us think of the present.”

“Confiteor,” repeated Gorenflot.

“Ah! you have made a prisoner,” said Crillon, laying his large hand on the monk’s shoulder.

Chicot was silent for a minute, leaving Gorenflot a prey to all the anguish of such profound terror that he nearly fainted again.

At last Chicot said, “Sire, look well at this monk.”

“The preacher Gorenflot,” cried Henri.

“Confiteor, confiteor,” repeated he.

“Himself,” said Chicot.

“He who ——”

“Just so,............