“Little and thin.”
“It is he,” thought Chicot; and he said, “Tell me about his arrival.”
“An hour ago I was in the kitchen, when I saw a great horse, ridden by a little man, stop before the door. ‘Is M. Nicolas here?’ asked he. ‘Yes, monsieur,’ said I. ‘Tell him that the person he expects from Avignon is here.’ ‘Certainly, monsieur, but I must warn you that he is very ill.’ ‘All the more reason for doing my bidding at once.’ ‘But he has a malignant fever.’ ‘Oh, pray, then, be quick!’ ‘How! you persist?’ ‘I persist.’ ‘In spite of the danger!’ ‘In spite of everything I must see him.’ So I took him to the room, and there he is now. Is it not odd?”
“Very droll.”
“I wish I could hear them.”
“Go in.”
“He forbade me to go in, saying he was going to confess.”
“Listen at the door.”
Bernouillet went, and Chicot went also to his hole: but they spoke so low that he could hear nothing, and in a few minutes Gondy rose and took leave. Chicot ran to the window, and saw a lackey waiting with a horse, which M. de Gondy mounted and rode off.
“If he only has not carried off the genealogy. Never mind, I shall soon catch him if necessary; but I suspect it is left here. Where can Gorenflot be?”