"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."
"You must not be angry with me, if it has become impossible for me to give you as much time as I could wish."
"And who the devil asked you for your time? I did not even ask you for breakfast; you offered it."
"Certainly I offered it; but – "
"But you thought I should not accept."
"Oh! no, is that my habit?"
"Ah! a superior man like you can adopt any habits, M. le Prior."
Gorenflot looked at Chicot; he could not tell whether he was laughing at him or speaking seriously. Chicot rose.
"Why do you rise, M. Briquet?" asked Gorenflot.
"Because I am going away."
"And why are you going away, when you said you would breakfast with me?"
"I did not say I would; I said, perhaps."
"You are angry."
Chicot laughed. "I angry!" said he, "at what? Because you are impudent, ignorant, and rude? Oh! my dear monsieur, I have known you too long to be angry at these little imperfections."
Gorenflot remained stupefied.
"Adieu," said Chicot.
"Oh! do not go."
"My journey will not wait."
"You travel?"
"I have a mission."
"From whom?"
"From the king."
"A mission from the king! then you have seen him again?"
"Certainly."
"And how did he receive you?"
"With enthusiasm; he has a memory, king as he is."
"A mission from the king!" stammered Gorenflot.
"Adieu," repeated Chicot.
Gorenflot rose, and seized him by the hand. "Come! let us explain ourselves," said he.
"On what?"
"On your susceptibility to-day."
"I! I am the same to-day as on all other days."
"No."
"A simple mirror of the people I am with. You laugh, and I laugh; you are rude, so am I."
"Well! I confess I was preoccupied."
"Really!"
"Can you not be indulgent to a man who has so much work on his shoulders? Governing this priory is like governing a province: remember, I command two hundred men."
"Ah! it is too much indeed for a servant of God."
"Ah! you are ironical, M. Briquet. Have you lost all your Christian charity? I think you are envious, really."
"Envious! of whom?"
"Why, you say to yourself, Dom Modeste Gorenflot is rising – he is on the ascending scale."
"While I am on the descending one, I suppose?"
"It is the fault of your false position, M. Briquet."
"M. Gorenflot, do you remember the text, 'He who humbles himself, shall be exalted?'"
"Nonsense!" cried Gorenflot.
"Ah! now he doubts the Holy Writ; the heretic!"
"Heretic, indeed! But what do you mean, M. Briquet?"
"Nothing, but that I set out on a journey, and that I have come to make you my adieux; so, good-by."
"You shall not leave me thus."
"I must."
"A friend!"
"In grandeur one has no friends."
"Chicot!"
"I am no longer Chicot; you reproached me with my false position just now."
"But you must not go without eating; it is not wholesome."
"Oh! you live too badly here."
"Badly, here!" murmured the prior, in astonishment.
"I think so."
"You had to complain of your last dinner here?"
"I should think so."
"Diable! and of what?"
"The pork cutlets were burned."
"Oh!"
"The