“It is on that road, then, that I am to join you?”

“Exactly.”

As Panurge went out, Chicot thought he saw some one listening at the door, but could not be sure.  He fancied it was Borromee.

“Where do you go?” asked Gorenflot.

“Toward Spain.”

“How do you travel?”

“Oh! anyhow; on foot, on horseback, in a carriage—­just as it happens.”

“Jacques will be good company for you.”

“Thanks, my good friend, I have now, I think, only to make my adieux.”

“Adieu; I will give you my benediction.”

“Bah! it is useless between us.”

“You are right; but it does for strangers,” and they embraced.

“Jacques!” called the prior, “Jacques!”

Borromee appeared.

“Brother Jacques,” repeated the prior.

“Jacques is gone.”

“What! gone,” cried Chicot.

“Did you not wish some one to go to the Louvre?”

“Yes; but it was Panurge.”

“Oh! stupid that I am,” cried Borromee, “I understood it to be Jacques.”

Chicot frowned, but Borromee appeared so sorry that it was impossible to say much.

“I will wait, then,” said he, “till Jacques returns.”

Borromee bowed, frowning in his turn.  “Apropos,” said he, “I forgot to announce to your reverence that the unknown lady has arrived and desires to speak to you.”

“Is she alone?” asked Gorenflot.

“No; she has a squire with her.”

“Is she young?”

Borromee lowered his eyes.  “She seems so,” said he.

“I will leave you,” said Chicot, “and wait in a neighboring room.”

“It is far from here to the Louvre, monsieur, and Jacques may be long, or they may hesitate to confide an important letter to a child.”

“You make these reflections rather late,” replied Chicot, “however, I will go on the road to Charenton and you can send him after me.”  And he turned to the staircase.

“Not that way, if you please,” said Borromee, “the lady is coming up, and she does not wish to meet any one.”

“You are right,” said Chicot, smiling, “I will take the little staircase.”

“Do you know the way?”

“Perfectly.”  And Chicot went out through a cabinet which led to another room, from which led the secret staircase.  The room was full of armor, swords, muskets, and pistols.

“They hide Jacques from me,” thought Chicot, “and they hide the lady, therefore of course I ought to do exactly the opposite of what they want me to do.  I will wait for the return of Jacques, and I will watch the mysterious lady.  Oh! here is a fine shirt of mail thrown into a corner; it is much too small for the prior, and would fit me admirably.  I will borrow it from Gorenflot, and give it to him again when I return.”  And he quietly put it on under his doublet.  He had just finished when Borromee entered.