"Strange enough!" replied Bernard de Rohan, not choosing to appear as much interested as he really was; "strange enough; but he may well have some friends to see—some town to visit in the way. Come, my good host! come, let us have supper speedily, and give us more light, for the night is growing dark and sombre. Good priest," he continued, turning to Father Willand, and speaking in a low voice, "I have a word for your private ear by-and-by; somewhat to consult upon, regarding which I need sound discretion and good counsel. I beseech you, therefore, pause at the end of the first stoup of wine."
"My son, my son," replied the priest, "men have always made a mistake with regard to the abode of truth. Truth and my brains lie together at the bottom of the second pottle pot, for most men are sure to tell the truth when they get to that pitch; and my brains are never clear, clean, and neat till they have been washed in that quantity at least. Fear not, fear not, I will be careful; though, if you are going to confess yourself, you ought to wish me as drunk as possible, for the penances I enjoin are always light when my knees feel like an unstarched ruff. Were it not better, however, to talk this matter over first, while my good host prepares the supper, and then we can consider it in our cups, you know?"
"It may indeed be as well," replied Bernard de Rohan. "Follow to my chamber, good priest, then. Go on, Martin, with a light;" and, taking his way up the dingy staircase, Bernard de Rohan led the priest to the large square, lofty bedroom which had been assigned him as his place of repose, and which no one would have imagined that lowly and humble-looking inn could boast of. The moment the door was closed and the attendant gone, the priest's eyes assumed a shrewder, but more serious expression, and he said, "Know you that I have been here twice yesterday, and three times to-day, seeking you?"
"In truth, I did not," replied the young cavalier. "On what account did you seek me?"
"To tell you to make good use of your time," answered the priest. "The Lord of Masseran is absent. He, I doubt not, is really gone to Paris; gone to justify himself to the king against accusations which he hears are to be made against him. You have, therefore, time to do all that you would, and nothing is required but to be diligent, quick, and secret."
"I have been all three," replied Bernard de Rohan. "And I just come from the postern by the fir-trees."
"Then you have seen Corse de Leon," said the priest, abruptly. "When and where? For I could not find him, neither yesterday nor to-day."
"I met him this morning," replied Bernard; "I met him this morning, and took him for an old drover, so completely had he disguised himself."
"Then have you seen the lady also?" asked the priest.
"I have, my good friend," answered the young cavalier, somewhat surprised to find how completely his proceedings were divined. "I have seen the lady; and it is in regard to that interview that I wished to speak with you. May I trust to you to do for me to-morrow night one of the offices of your holy function, and—"