t if you are not hanged till the day after to-morrow, you will
only be hanged the higher."

"I will go; but you abuse your position."

"Oh! M. Poulain, you were a traitor five minutes ago, and I make you the
savior of your country. Now, go quickly, for I am in a hurry. The Hotel
d'Epernon--do not forget."

Nicholas Poulain ran off, with a despairing look.

"Ah! it was time," said Chicot, "for some one is leaving the priory. But
it is not Jacques; that fellow is half as tall again."

Chicot then hastened to the Croix Faubin, where he had given the
rendezvous. The monk, who was there to meet him, was a giant in height;
his monk's robe, hastily thrown on, did not hide his muscular limbs, and
his face bore anything but a religious expression. His arms were as long
as Chicot's own, and he had a knife in his belt.

As Chicot approached, he turned and said, "Are you M. Robert Briquet?"

"I am."

"Then I have a letter for you from the reverend prior."

Chicot took the letter, and read as follows:

"My dear friend, I have reflected since we parted; it is impossible
for me to let the lamb confided to me go among the wolves of the
world. I mean, you understand, our little Jacques, who has
fulfilled your message to the king. Instead of him, who is too
young, I send you a good and worthy brother of our order; his
manners are good, and his humor innocent, and I am sure you will
like him. I send you my benediction. Adieu, dear friend."

"What fine writing," said Chicot; "I will wager it is the treasurer's."

"It was Brother Borromee who wrote it," said the Goliath.

"In that case you will return to the priory, my friend."--"I?"

"Yes; and tell his reverence that I have changed my mind, and intend to
travel alone."

"What! you will not take me, monsieur?" said the man, with astonishment,
mixed with menace.

"No, my friend."

"And why, if you please?"

"Because I must be economical, and you would eat too much."

"Jacques eats as much as I do."

"Yes, but Jacques was a monk."

"And what am I?"

"You, my friend, are a gendarme, or a foot soldier."

"What do you mean? Do you not see my monk's robe?"

"The dress does not make the monk, my friend; tell Brother Borromee
that, if you please."

The giant disappeared, grumbling, like a beaten hound.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE GUISES.

On the evening of the same day on which Chicot set off for Navarre, we
shall find again, in