“Then I begin.” And the monk rose, and leaned against the wall.
“You begin,” said Chicot, holding him up.
“I begin, ‘My brothers, it is a good day for the faith, a very good day, my brothers; it is a very good day for the faith.’”
After this, as Chicot loosed his hold, Gorenflot fell full length again on the floor, and before many minutes a loud snoring was heard.
“Good,” said Chicot, “he is in for twelve hours sleep. I can easily undress him.”
He then untied the monk’s robe, and pulled it off; then rolled Gorenflot in the tablecloth, and covered his head with a napkin, and hiding the monk’s frock under his cloak, passed into the kitchen.
“M. Boutromet,” said he, “here is for our supper, and for my horse; and pray do not wake the worthy Brother Gorenflot, who sleeps sound.”
“No, no; be easy, M. Chicot.”
Then Chicot ran to the rue St. Etienne, put on the monk’s robe, took the tester in his hand, and at a quarter to ten presented himself, not without a beating heart, at the wicket of the Abbey St. Geneviève.