CHAPTER XXI.

Brother Borromee.

When Chicot, sustaining the reverend prior, arrived in the courtyard, he found there two bands of one hundred men each, waiting for their commander.  About fifty among the strongest and most zealous had helmets on their heads and long swords hanging to belts from their waists.  Others displayed with pride bucklers, on which they loved to rattle an iron gauntlet.

Brother Borromee took a helmet from the hands of a novice, and placed it on his head.  While he did so, Chicot looked at it and smiled.

“You have a handsome helmet there, Brother Borromee,” said he; “where did you buy it, my dear prior?”

Gorenflot could not reply, for at that moment they were fastening a magnificent cuirass upon him, which, although spacious enough to have covered Hercules, Farnese constrained wofully the undulations of the flesh of the worthy prior, who was crying: 

“Not so tight!  I shall stifle; stop!”

But Borromee replied, “It made part of a lot of armor that the reverend prior bought yesterday to arm the convent.”

“I!” said Gorenflot.

“Yes; do you not remember that they brought several cuirasses and casques here, according to your reverence’s orders?”

“It is true,” said Gorenflot.

“Ventre de biche!” thought Chicot; “my helmet is much attached to me, for, after having taken it myself to the Hotel Guise, it comes here to meet me again.”

At a sign from Borromee, the monks now formed into lines, while Chicot sat down on a bench to look on.

Gorenflot stood up.  “Attention,” whispered Borromee to him.

Gorenflot drew a gigantic sword from the scabbard, and waving it in the air, cried in the voice of a stentor, “Attention!”

“Your reverence will fatigue yourself, perhaps, in giving the orders,” said Borromee, softly; “if it please you to spare your precious health, I will command to-day.”

“I should wish it, I am stifling.”

Borromee bowed and placed himself at the head of the troop.

“What a complaisant servant,” said Chicot.

“He is charming, I told you so.”

“I am sure he does the same for you every day.”

“Oh! every day.  He is as submissive as a slave.”

“So that you have really nothing to do here—­Brother Borromee acts for you?”

“Oh! mon Dieu, yes.”

It was wonderful to see Borromee with his arms in his hands, his eye dilated, and his vigorous arm wielding his sword in so skillful a manner that one would have thought him a trained soldier.  Each time that Borromee gave an order, Gorenflot repeated it, adding: 

“Brother Borromee is right; but I told you all that yesterday.  Pass the pike from one hand to the other!  Raise it to the level of the eye!”

“You are a skillful instructor,” said Chicot.