“Just so; I was going to seek you at the convent, when I saw you come out, and followed you until we were alone. Ventre de biche! how thin you are!”
“But what are you carrying, M. Chicot?” said the monk, “you appear laden.”
“It is some venison which I have stolen from the king.”
“Dear M. Chicot! and under the other arm?”
“A bottle of Cyprus wine sent by a king to my king.”
“Let me see!”
“It is my wine, and I love it much; do not you, brother?”
“Oh! oh!” cried Gorenflot, raising his eyes and hands to Heaven, and beginning to sing in a voice which shook the neighboring windows. It was the first time he had sung for a month.