I made a shot at a venture. “But you’re to pay his wife Babette the ten francs and the leg of mutton in twenty-four hours, or his ghost will follow you. Swallow that, pudding-head! And see you pay it, or every man in our company swears to break a score of shingles on your bare back.”
“I’ll pay, I’ll pay,” he said, and he took to trembling.
“Where shall I find Babette?” asked I. “I come from Isle aux Coudres; I know not this rambling town.”
“A little house hugging the cathedral rear,” he explained. “Babette sweeps out the vestry, and fetches water for the priests.”
“Good,” said I. “Take that to the Governor at once, and send the corporal of the guard to have this horse fed and cared for, and he’s to carry back the Governor’s messenger. I’ve further business for the General in the town. And tell your captain of the guard to send and pick up two dead men in the highway, just against the first Calvary beyond the town.”
He did my bidding, and I dismounted, and was about to get away, when I saw the Chevalier de la Darante and the Intendant appear at the door. They paused upon the steps. The Chevalier was speaking most earnestly:
“To a nunnery—a piteous shame! it should not be, your Excellency.”
“To decline upon Monsieur Doltaire, then?” asked Bigot, with a sneer.
“Your Excellency believes in no woman,” responded the Chevalier stiffly.
“Ah yes, in one!” was the cynical reply.