of the monk became so livid and his smile so strange, that
Raoul, whose eyes were still fixed upon him, felt as if this smile had
struck to his heart like an insult.

"He is some Spanish or Flemish spy," said he, putting his hand to his
pistol. A glance, threatening and transient as lightning, replied to
Raoul.

"Well, sir," said De Guiche, "are you going to reply?"

"I am a priest," said the young man.

"Then, father," said Raoul, forcing himself to convey a respect by
speech that did not come from his heart, "if you are a priest you have
an opportunity, as my friend has told you, of exercising your vocation.
At the next inn you will find a wounded man, now being attended by our
servants, who has asked the assistance of a minister of God."

"I will go," said the monk.

And he touched his mule.

"If you do not go, sir," said De Guiche, "remember that we have two
steeds able to catch your mule and the power of having you seized
wherever you may be; and then I swear your trial will be summary; one
can always find a tree and a cord."

The monk's eye again flashed, but that was all; he merely repeated his
phrase, "I will go,"--and he went.

"Let us follow him," said De Guiche; "it will be the surest plan."

"I was about to propose so doing," answered De Bragelonne.

In the space of five minutes the monk turned around to ascertain whether
he was followed or not.

"You see," said Raoul, "we have done wisely."

"What a horrible face that monk has," said De Guiche.

"Horrible!" replied Raoul, "especially in expression."

"Yes, yes," said De Guiche, "a strange face; but these monks are subject
to such degrading practices; their fasts make them pale, the blows of
the discipline make them hypocrites, and their eyes become inflamed
through weeping for the good things of this life we common folk enjoy,
but they have lost."

"Well," said Raoul, "the poor man will get his priest, but, by Heaven,
the penitent appears to me to have a better conscience than the
confessor. I confess I am accustomed to priests of a very different
appearance."

"Ah!" exclaimed De Guiche, "you must understand that this is one of
those wandering brothers, who go begging on the high road until some
day a benefice falls down from Heaven on them; they are mostly
foreigners--Scotch, Irish or Danish. I have seen them before."

"As ugly?"

"No, but reasonably hideous."

"What a misfortune for the wounded man to die under the hands of such