e manner of all his benighted people, brought a slanderous accusation
falsely. All the more reason was there that I should hear his last
confession, and forgive him freely, as may I also be forgiven."

"Thou liest in thy throat," said D'Aulon. "This is a brave man-at-arms,
and a loyal."

"Would that thou wert not beguiled, fair sir, for I have no pleasure in
the sin of any man. But, if thou wilt believe him rather than me, even
keep thy belief, and read this written confession of his falsehood. Of
free will, with his own hand, my penitent hereby absolves me from all his
slanders. As Holy Church enjoins, in the grace of repentance he also
makes restitution of what he had stolen, namely, all my wealth in this
world, the good name of a poor and lowly follower of the blessed Francis.
Here is the scroll."

With these words, uttered in a voice of sorrowing and humble honesty, the
friar stretched out the written sheet of paper to D'Aulon.

"Had I been a false traitor," he said, "would not her brethren of heaven
have warned the blessed Maid against me? And I have also a written safe-
conduct from the holy sister Colette."

Then I knew that he had fallen into my trap, and, weak as I was, I could
have laughed to think of his face, when the words I had written came out
in place of the words he had bidden me write. For a clerk hath great
power beyond the simple and unlettered of the world, be they as cunning
even as Brother Thomas.

"Nom Dieu! this is another story," said D'Aulon, turning the paper about
in his hands and looking doubtfully at me. But I smiled upon him,
whereby he was the more perplexed. "The ink is hardly dry, and in some
places has run and puddled, so that, poor clerk as I am, I can make
little of it"; and he pored on it in a perplexed sort. "Tush, it is
beyond my clerkhood," he said at last. "You, Messire
Saint-Mesmin,"--turning to the physician--"must interpret this."

"Willingly, fair sir," said the physician, moving round to the shutter,
which he opened, while the cordelier's eyes glittered, for now there was
one man less between him and the half-open door. I nodded to D'Aulon
that he should shut it, but he marked me not, being wholly in amaze at
the written scroll of my confession.

The physician himself was no great clerk, and he read the paper slowly,
stumbling over the words, as it were, while Brother Thomas, clasping his
crucifix to his breast, listened in triumph as he heard what he h