"Lied?"
"Why, yes. I told him that he was … But what is it to you? He is a fool … like his father. To throw away a marquisate and the income of a prince! Curse this bed!" with sullen fury.
"Perhaps, Monsieur, the bed is of your own making."
"Ah! So we also indulge in irony? If this bed is of my own making, my mind was occupied with softer things. Would you not like the love of women, endless gold, priceless wines, and all that the world gives to the worldly? Come; what secret envy is yours, you who sleep on straw, in clammy cells, and dine on crusts?"
Brother Jacques went back to his window. He was pale. How deftly had the marquis placed his finger on the raw! Envy? All his life he had envied the rich and the worldly; all his life he had struggled between his cravings and his honesty. Had he not shaved his crown that his head might have a pallet to sleep on and his hunger a crust? His nails indented his palms, but he felt no pain. He was grateful for the cool of the morning air. Down below he saw the Vicomte d'Halluys tramping about in company with some soldiers. The Jesuit stared at that picturesque face. Where had he seen it prior to that night at the Corne d'Abondance?
Up and down the winding path settlers, soldiers, merchants, trappers and Indians straggled, with an occasional seigneur lending to the scene the pomp of a vanished Court. Far away the priest could see a hawk, circling and circling in the summer sky. Now and then a dove flashed by, and a golden bumblebee blundered into the chamber.
"I will fetch Sister Benie," Brother Jacques said at length. He dreaded to remain with this fierce-eyed old man from whom nothing seemed hidden, not even secret thought. "She is an excellent nurse."
"She will please me better than Monsieur le Comte."
The title stirred Brother Jacques strangely.
"But give her to understand," added the marquis, "that I want no canting Loyola. Who is this Sister Benie?"