“I, a poor bourgeois!” said Chicot.

“But, monsieur, to manage a sword as you do, you must have practiced enormously.”

“Oh! mon Dieu! yes, monsieur, I have often held the sword, and have always found one thing.”—­“What is that?”

“That for him who holds it, pride is a bad counselor and anger a bad assistant.  Now, listen, Jacques,” added he:  “you have a good wrist, but neither legs nor head; you are quick, but you do not reason.  There are three essential things in arms—­first the head, then the hands and legs:  with the one you can defend yourself, with the others you may conquer, but with all three you can always conquer.”

“Ah! monsieur,” said Jacques, “try Brother Borromee; I should like to see it.”

“No,” said the treasurer, “I should be beaten, and I would rather confess it than prove it.”

“How modest and amiable he is!” said Gorenflot.

“On the contrary,” whispered Chicot, “he is stupid with vanity.  At his age I would have given anything for such a lesson,” and he sat down again.

Jacques approached him, and admiration triumphing over the shame of defeat: 

“Will you give me some lessons, M. Briquet?” said he; “the prior will permit it, will you not, your reverence?”

“With pleasure, my child.”

“I do not wish to interfere with your master,” said Chicot, bowing to Borromee.

“Oh!  I am not his only master,” said he.  “Neither all the honor nor the defeat are wholly due to me.”

“Who is the other, then?”

“Oh! no one!” cried Borromee, fearing he had committed an imprudence.

“Who is he, Jacques?” asked Chicot.

“I remember,” said Gorenflot; “he is a little fat man who comes here sometimes and drinks well.”

“I forget his name,” said Borromee.

“I know it,” said a monk who was standing by.  “It is Bussy Leclerc.”

“Ah! a good sword,” said Chicot.

Jacques reiterated his request.

“I cannot teach you,” said Chicot.  “I taught myself by reflection and practice; and I advise you to do the same.”

Gorenflot and Chicot now returned to the house.

“I hope,” said Gorenflot, with pride, “that this is a house worth something, and well managed.”

“Wonderful! my friend; and when I return from my mission—­”

“Ah! true, dear M. Chicot; let us speak of your mission.”

“So much the more willingly, that I have a message to send to the king before I go.”

“To the king, my dear friend!  You correspond with the king?”

“Directly.”

“And you want a messenger?”

“Yes.”

“Will you have one of our monks?  It would be an honor to the priory.”

“Willingly.”

“Then you are restored to favor?”

“More than ever.”

“Then,” said Gorenflot, “you can tell the king all that we are doing here in his favor.”