"You—you—Josephin? You are mocking us! And yet you claim you have lost your taste for mirth!"
Separated from the two thieves by the full length of the table, the Franc-Taupin placed his sword between his legs, planted his bare dagger close before him, and then drew a parchment out of the pocket of his spacious hose. It was Hervé's letter of absolution, which the Franc-Taupin had picked up from the threshold of his sister's house when the Lebrenn family was arrested. He unfolded the apostolic schedule; and holding it open in plain view of both the brigands, he said to them:
"Look and read—you can read."
"A letter of absolution!" exclaimed the Mauvais-Garçon and the Tire-Laine, with eyes that glistened with greed as they carefully ran over the parchment. "It bears the seals, the signatures—there is nothing lacking!"
"I saw day before yesterday a schedule like that in the hands of the Count of St. Mexin, who paid me two ducats to dispatch a certain fat advocate, a husband who stands in the way of the love affairs of the advocatess with the young seigneur," said the Mauvais-Garçon.
"By the confession!" cried Grippe-Minaud, re-crossing himself. "The letter is complete! It gives remission even for reserved cases. Thanks to this absolution, one can do anything! Anything, without danger to his soul!"
After reading and contemplating with ecstasies the apostolic schedule, the two bandits exchanged a rapid and meaning look, which, however, did not escape the Franc-Taupin, thoroughly on his guard as he was. He drew back quickly, rose from his seat, dashed the precious parchment back into his pocket, took a few steps away from the table, and standing erect, his right foot forward, his sword in one hand, his dagger in the other, thus addressed the two desperadoes:
"By the bowels of St. Quenet, my lads! I knew you for too good a brace of Catholics not to wish to stab me to death in order to get possession of this absolving schedule, which remits all past, present and future crimes. Come on, my dare-devils, I have only one eye left, but it is a good one!"
"You are crazy! It is not right to mistrust an old friend that way," expostulated Pichrocholle. "You misunderstood our intentions."
"We only wanted to examine more closely that blessed and priceless letter," added the Tire-Laine. "By the confession! Happy man that you are to possess such a treasure!" and he crossed himself. "Saints of paradise, but grant me such a windfall, and I shall burn twenty wax candles come Candlemas!"