"Modestly answered, for one so young," replied the monk. "Methinks you have not been long in courts, my son. They tell me that modesty is soon lost there, as well as truth."
"I trust that I shall lose neither there," replied Jean Charost, "or I would soon betake myself afar from such bad influence. I do not hold that any thing a court could give would repay a man for loss of honesty."
"Well, I know little of courts," answered the old man, "and perhaps there is scandal in the tales they tell; but one thing is certain--it is very cold, and I will betake me to my books again. Good-night, my son;" and he walked on.
Jean Charost began again to pace and repace the cloister, fancying, but not quite sure, that he heard the murmur of voices down the passage through which the monk had taken his way. Shortly after, he saw a tall, gray figure flit across the moonlight, which had now reached to the grass in the centre of the quadrangle. It was lost almost as soon as seen, and no sound of steps met the young man's ear. He saw it distinctly, however, and yet there was a sort of superstitious awe came over him, as if the being he beheld were not of the same nature with himself. He walked on in the same direction which it seemed to have taken, but, ere he reached the corner of the quadrangle, he saw another figure come forth from one of the passages which branched off from the cloister, and easily recognized the walk and bearing of the Duke of Orleans. But suddenly that gray figure came between him and the duke, and a deep-toned, hollow voice was heard to say, "Bad man, repent while you have yet time! Your days are numbered! The last grains of sand shake in the hour-glass; the moon will not change thrice, and find you among the living!"
The duke seemed to stagger back, and Jean Charost darted onward; but before he reached the spot, the stranger was gone.
"Follow him not--follow him not!" cried the Duke of Orleans, catching the arm of his young secretary, who was impulsively hurrying in pursuit of the man who had put forth what seemed to his ears a daring threat against the brother of his king; "follow him not, but come hither;" and, taking Jean Charost's arm, he pursued his way through the long passages of the monastery to the vestibule, where sat the old monk busily illuminating his manuscript.
Till they reached that room the duke uttered not a word, except his brief injunction not to follow. But there he seated himself upon a bench, with a face very pale, and beckoning up the old man, spoke to him for several moments in a low tone of voice.
"I really can not tell," said the monk, aloud. "We have no such brother as you describe; no one has passed here."
"He must have passed you, methinks," replied Jean Charost, unable to resist. "He came from the passage down which you went the moment after you had left me, and I fancied I heard him speak with you."
"Not so, my son, not so," replied the monk, eagerly; "I saw no one but yourself, and spoke with no one."