"But the grey cloak, Monsieur Paul . . ." began the lackey.

"What! you have dared to soil it?"

"No, Monsieur; but you have forgotten that you loaned it to Monsieur de

Saumaise, prior to your departure to Italy. He has not returned it."

"That's not like Victor. And I had dreamed of wearing that cloak.

Mademoiselle complimented me on it, and that fop De Montausier asked me

how many pistoles I paid for it."

"The purple cloak is new, Monsieur. It is fully as handsome as the

grey one. All it lacks is the square collar you invented."

"Ah well, since there is no grey cloak. Now the gossip. First of all,

my debts and debtors."

"Monsieur de Saumaise," said Breton, "has remitted the ten louis he

lost to you at tennis."

"There's a friend; ruined himself to do it. Poetry and improvidence;

how they cling together!"

"Brisemont, the jeweler, says that the garters you ordered will come to

one hundred and ten pistoles. But he wants to know what the central

gem shall be, rubies or sapphires surrounding."

"Topaz for the central gem, rubies and diamonds for the rest. The

clasps must match topaz eyes. And they must be done by Monday."

"Monsieur's eyes are grey," the lackey observed slyly.

"Rascal, you are asking a question!"

"No, Monsieur, I was simply stating a fact. Plutarch says . . ."

"Plutarch? What next?" in astonishment.

"I have just bought a copy of Amyot's translation with the money you

gave me. Plutarch is fine, Monsieur."

"What shall a gentleman do when his lackey starts to quote Plutarch?"

with mock helplessness. "Well, lad, read Plutarch and profit. But

keep your grimy hands off my Rabelais, or I'll trounce you."

Breton flushed guiltily. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than

another it was the adventures of the worthy Pantagruel and his

resourceful esquire; but he had never been able to complete this record

of extravagant exploits, partly because he could not read fast enough

and partly because his master kept finding new hiding places for it.

"A messenger from De Guitaut," he said, "called this morning for you."

"For me? That is strange. The captain knew that I could not arrive

before to-night, which is the twentieth."

"I told the officer that. He laughed curiously and said that he

expected to find you absent."

"What the devil did he call for, then?"

Breton made a grimace which explained his inability to answer this

question.

The Chevalier stood still and twisted his mustache till the ends were

like needle-points. "Horns of Panurge! as Victor would say; is it

possible for any man save Homer to be in two places at once? Possibly

I am to race for some other end of France. I like it not. Mazarin

thinks because I am in her Majesty's Guards that I belong to him.

Plague take him, I say."




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