There was a dead silence for a moment or two, and then the elder man laid his finger quietly on the narrow strip of fur that bordered his companion's dress, saying, with a slight smile, "You are of noble blood, Jean, and I am a mere bourgeois."
"I can easily strip that off, if it offends you, sir," replied the young man, giving him back his smile. "It is soon done away."
"But not the noble blood, Jean," answered his companion; "and this occupation is not fitted for you."
An air of deep and anxious grief spread over the young man's face, and he answered earnestly, "There is nothing derogatory in it, sir. To write your letters, to transact any honorable business which you may intrust to me, can not in any way degrade me, and you know right well that it was from no base or ignoble motive that I undertook the task. My mother's poverty is no stain upon our honorable blood, nor surely can her son's efforts be so to change that poverty into competence."
His companion smiled upon him kindly, saying, "Far from it, Jean; but still, if there be an opportunity of your effecting your object in a course more consonant with your birth and station, it is my duty as your friend to seize it for you. Such an opportunity now presents itself, and you must take advantage of it. It may turn out well; I trust it will; but, should the reverse be the case--for in these strange, unsettled times, those who stand the highest have most to fear a fall--if the reverse should be the case, I say, you will always find a resource in Jacques Cœur; his house, his purse, his confidence will be always open to you. Put on your chaperon, then, and come with me: for Fortune, like Time, should always be taken by the forelock. The jade is sure to kick if we get behind her."
The young man took down one of the large hoods in which it was still customary, for the bourgeoisie especially, to envelop their heads, when walking in the streets of Paris. Beneath it, however, he placed a small cap, fitting merely the crown of the head, and over the sort of tunic he wore he cast a long mantle, for the weather was very cold. When fully accoutered, he ventured to ask where Maître Cœur was going to take him; but the good merchant answered with a smile, "Never mind, my son, never mind. If we succeed as I expect, you will soon know; if not, there is no need you should. Come with me, Jean, and trust to me."
"Right willingly," replied the young man, and followed him.
The house was a large and handsome house, as things went at that time in Paris; but the stair-case was merely one of those narrow, twisting spirals which we rarely see, except in cathedrals or ruined castles, in the present times. Windows to that stair-case there were none, and in the daytime the manifold steps received light only through a loophole here and there; for in those days it was not at all inconvenient for the owner, even of a very modest mansion, to have the means of ascending and descending from one part of his house to the other, without the danger of being struck by the arrows which were flying somewhat too frequently in the streets of Paris. At night, a lantern, guarded by plates of horn from the cold blasts through the loopholes, shed a faint and twinkling ray, at intervals of ten or twelve yards, upon the steps. But Jacques Cœur and his young companion were both well acquainted with the way, and were soon at the little door which opened into the court-yard. Jean Charost looked round for the merchant's mule, as they issued forth; but no mule was there, nor any attendant in waiting; and Jacques Cœur drawing his cloak more tightly around him, walked straight out of the gates, and along the narrow streets, unlighted by any thing but the pale stars shining dimly in the wintery sky.
The merchant walked fast, and Jean Charost followed a step behind: not without some curiosity: not without some of that palpitating anxiety which, with the young, generally precedes an unexpected change of life, yet with a degree, at least, of external calmness which nothing but very early discipline in the hard school of the world could give. It seemed to him, indeed, that his companion intended to traverse the whole city of Paris; for, directing his course toward the quarter of St. Antoine, he paused not during some twenty minutes, except upon one occasion, when, just as they were entering one of the principal streets, half a dozen men, carrying torches, came rapidly along, followed by two or three on horseback, and several on foot. Jacques Cœur drew back into the shadow, and brought his cloak closer round him; but the moment the cavalcade had passed he walked on again, saying in a whisper, "That is the Marquis de Giac, a favorite of the Duke of Burgundy--or, rather, the husband of the duke's favorite. He owes me a thousand crowns, and, consequently, loves not to see me in his way."
Five minutes more brought them to a large stone wall, having two towers, almost like those of a church, one at either end, and a great gate with a wicket near the centre. Monasteries were more common than bee-hives in Paris in those days, and Jean Charost would have taken no notice of the wall, or of a large, dull-looking building rising up behind it, had it not been that a tall man, clad apparently in a long gray gown, rushed suddenly up to the gate, just as the two men were passing, and rang the bell violently. He seemed to hold something carefully on his left arm; but his air was wild and hurried, and Jacques Cœur murmured, as they passed, "Alas, alas! 'Tis still the same, all over the world."