“How comes it that you are so well dressed? I know those clothes are not your own, for I know all about your way of life, Jacques Haret.”
Gaston Cheverny looked a little uncomfortable at this. For all of Madame Riano’s sharpness, she had not recognized the clothes as belonging to Gaston. Jacques Haret, however, replied with a grin:
“I borrowed them, Madame, when I was last in Brabant from your old friend, the Bishop of Louvain. The old gentleman kept this costume for occasions when he goes to Brussels incog. and plays Harun-al-Rashid.”
Madame Riano chose to be highly offended at this levity.
“How dare you, Jacques Haret, say such things about a man of God!”
“A man of God do you call him, Madame? Who was it, I should be glad to know, that sent word to the bishop unless he stopped preaching directly at a certain lady she would tweak his ears for him the next time she met him?”
This staggered Madame Riano, for she had once actually sent such a message to the bishop, who had the 428 prudence to desist from his fulminations against her. But like a crafty general, Madame Riano was able to collect her scattered forces, after an onslaught, and still make trouble for her adversary.
“I do not know to what you allude, and I should still like to know where you got those clothes.”
“Madame,” began Gaston, in great confusion, but Jacques Haret was not a whit confused and took the words out of Gaston’s mouth:
“From the wardrobe of Gaston Cheverny just half an hour ago.”