“Nerac, Pibrac, crack!” cried Babette. “There’s no confidence to be placed in Gascons; they think only of themselves.”
Old Lecamus looked at his son, smiling scornfully.
“They propose to put on horseback a poor boy whose knees and ankles were shattered for their sakes!” cried the mother. “What a wicked jest!”
“I shall never see you a counsellor of Navarre,” said his father.
“I wish I knew what Queen Catherine would do for me, if I made a claim upon her,” said Christophe, cast down by the prince’s answer.
“She made you no promise,” said the old man, “but I am certain that she will never mock you like these others; she will remember your sufferings. Still, how can the queen make a counsellor of the Parliament out of a protestant burgher?”
“But Christophe has not abjured!” cried Babette. “He can very well keep his private opinions secret.”
“The Prince de Conde would be less disdainful of a counsellor of the Parliament,” said Lallier.
“Well, what say you, Christophe?” urged Babette.
“You are counting without the queen,” replied the young lawyer.