“Who was that?”
“M. de Mayenne.”
“M. de Mayenne, to whom you owed——”
“Yes, sire; we are quits.”
“Ah! tell me about that, Chicot.”
“Afterwards, my son; now let us think of the present.”
“Confiteor,” repeated Gorenflot.
“Ah! you have made a prisoner,” said Crillon, laying his large hand on the monk’s shoulder.
Chicot was silent for a minute, leaving Gorenflot a prey to all the anguish of such profound terror that he nearly fainted again.
At last Chicot said, “Sire, look well at this monk.”