“I must take you to another cell,” he said. “On the way you can stop long enough to make your confession if that is what you want, you superstitious fool, to the fat old fellow from Bienville.”
“Thank you very much,” answered François; “I thought to myself the first time I saw you yesterday, ‘He is an obliging person.’”
“Then come along with me now,” said the jailer.
François got up nimbly, in spite of his wounded leg, and followed the guard along the corridor, chatting agreeably with him.
“I swear,” said the jailer when they got to the Bishop’s door, “I am sorry such a pleasant fellow as you is to be shot.”
“If you could only have known me in my past days, and seen some of my juggling tricks and heard me sing, you would be sorrier still,” replied François, affably. “You are quite a decent fellow, and if circumstances had permitted, I should have been glad to cultivate your further acquaintance.”
The jailer laughed, and unlocking the door of a cell, opened it, saying:
“Half an hour is all I can give you.”
François found himself in the cell with the Bishop, and the door locked.
The Bishop was not so stout and ruddy as he had been, but pinched and sallow, for he had been prisoner for a month. He was, however, just as glad to see François, and kissed him on both cheeks.