‘By Saint Genevieve!’ he said, ‘if it is not M. de Berault?’
‘It is,’ I said. It touched me a little, after my lonely journey, to find him so glad to see me; though I had never done him a greater benefit than sometimes to unbend with him and borrow his money. ‘You look surprised, little man!’ I continued, as he made way for me to enter. ‘I’ll be sworn that you have been pawning my goods and letting my room, you knave!’ ‘Never, your Excellency!’ he answered. ‘On the contrary, I have been expecting you.’
‘How?’ I said. ‘To-day?’
‘To-day or to-morrow,’ he answered, following me in and closing the door. ‘The first thing I said when I heard the news this morning was—now we shall have M. de Berault back again. Your Excellency will pardon the children,’ he continued, bobbing round me, as I took the old seat on the three-legged stool before the hearth. ‘The night is cold and there is no fire in your room.’
While he ran to and fro with my cloak and bags, little Gil, to whom I had stood at St Sulpice’s, borrowing ten crowns the same day, I remember, came shyly to play with my sword hilt.
‘So you expected me back when you heard the news, Frison, did you?’ I said, taking the lad on my knee.
‘To be sure, your Excellency,’ he answered, peeping into the black pot before he lifted it to the hook.
‘Very good. Then now let us hear what the news is,’ I said drily.
‘Of the Cardinal, M. de Berault.’
‘Ah! And what?’ He looked at me, holding the heavy pot suspended in his hands.