“To deliver this evening at the abbey.”
“That is odd.”
“And I must be quick and go there, or perhaps my audience will grow impatient.”
Chicot thought of the infinite number of monks he had seen going to the abbey, and wondered why Gorenflot, whom certainly he had never thought eloquent, had been chosen to preach before M. de Mayenne and the numerous assemblage. “When are you to preach?” said he.
“At half-past nine.”
“Good; it is still a quarter to nine, you can give me a few minutes. Ventre de biche! we have not dined together for a week.”
“It is not our fault, but I know that your duties keep you near our King Henry III., while my duties fill up my time.”
“Yes, but it seems to me that is so much the more reason why we should be merry when we do meet.”
“Yes, I am merry,” said Gorenflot, with a piteous look, “but still I must leave you.”
“At least, finish your supper.”