"A monk!" cried De Royans. "The gown does not make the monk. Where were your eyes? I will answer for it, he has got a steel coat on under that gown. But he must have some rooms, at all events."
"There are none empty but those reserved for Madame De Giac," replied the landlord; "and all the men are obliged to sleep four or five in a bed."
"Well, put him in Madame De Giac's rooms," cried De Royans, with a laugh. "I dare say neither party will object to the arrangement. At all events, you must find him some place; I insist upon it. I will quarter all my archers upon you, if you don't; eat out all you have got in the house, and drink up all your wine. Take ten minutes to consider of it, and then come and tell me, in the den where you have put me. Bid some of my people look to Monsieur De Brecy's mule, and look to it well; for, before it carried him, it carried as noble a prince as France has seen, or ever will see. Come, old friend, I will show you the way."
When Jean Charost was seated in the room of Juvenel de Royans, a lamp lighted, and his companion stretched out at ease, partly on his bed and partly on a settle, the latter assumed a graver tone, and De Brecy perceived with pain that he was both depressed in mind and sadly shattered in body. Twelve years of almost incessant campaigning had broken down his strength, and many wounds received had left him a suffering and enfeebled man.
"God help me!" he said. "I try to bear up well, De Brecy, and can not make up my mind to quit the old trade. I must die in harness, I suppose; but I believe what I ought to do would be to betake me to my castle by the Garonne, adopt my sister's son--her husband fell at Azincourt--and feed upon bouillons and Medoc wine for the rest of my life. I am never without some ache. But now tell me what are your plans; for, as I am constantly on the spot, I can give you a map of the whole country."
Jean Charost explained to him frankly his precise situation, and De Royans thought over it for some time in silence.
"You must make powerful friends," he said, at length. "Don't you know Madame De Giac? Every one knows that, on that fatal night, you were sent to her by the duke our lord, and, if so, she must be under some obligations to you for your discretion."
"I have remarked, De Royans," replied the other, "that ladies generally hate those who have the power to be discreet."
"That could be soon seen," said De Royans. "We can test it readily."
"I see no use," replied De Brecy. "She is the avowed mistress of the Duke of Burgundy, and of him I am going to ask no favor."