“Oh, yes, yes! that is what Monsieur de Thou means,” said Fournier, laughing; “very good, very good indeed! Yes, I think to-day is Sainte-Barbe.”
De Thou was now altogether confused and reduced to silence; as for the others, seeing that they did not understand him, nor he them, they had recourse to silence.
They were sitting thus mute, when the door opened to admit the old tutor of Cinq-Mars, the Abbe Quillet, who entered, limping slightly. He looked very gloomy, retaining none of his former gayety in his air or language; but his look was still animated, and his speech energetic.
“Pardon me, my dear De Thou, that I so early disturb you in your occupations; it is strange, is it not, in a gouty invalid? Ah, time advances; two years ago I did not limp. I was, on the contrary, nimble enough at the time of my journey to Italy; but then fear gives legs as well as wings.”
Then, retiring into the recess of a window, he signed De Thou to come to him.
“I need hardly remind you, my friend, who are in their secrets, that I affianced them a fortnight ago, as they have told you.”
“Ah, indeed! Whom?” exclaimed poor De Thou, fallen from the Charybdis into the Scylla of astonishment.
“Come, come, don’t affect surprise; you know very well whom,” continued the Abbe. “But, faith, I fear I have been too complaisant with them, though these two children are really interesting in their love. I fear for him more than for her; I doubt not he is acting very foolishly, judging from the disturbance this morning. We must consult together about it.”
“But,” said De Thou, very gravely, “upon my honor, I do not know what you mean. Who is acting foolishly?”
“Now, my dear Monsieur, will you still play the mysterious with me? It is really insulting,” said the worthy man, beginning to be angry.