Chicot the Jester

“Chance.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A fortnight.”

“Why did you watch me?”

“I did not.”

“How did you know that I had the papers?”

“Because I was told so.”

“Who told you?”

“He who sent me here.”

“Who was that?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“You must.”

“Oh! oh! I will cry out.”

“And I will kill.”

Gorenflot cried out, and a spot of blood appeared on the point of the sword.

“His name?” cried David.

“Oh! I can hold out no more.”

“Speak.”

“It was Chicot.”

“The king’s jester!”

“Himself.”

“And where is he?”

“Here!” cried a voice, and Chicot appeared at the door with a drawn sword in his hand.

CHAPTER XXXII.

HOW CHICOT USED HIS SWORD

Nicolas David, in recognizing him whom he knew to be his mortal enemy, could not repress a movement of terror, during which Gorenflot slipped a little to the side, crying out, “Help, friend! come to my aid!”

“Ah, Monsieur David, it is you!” said Chicot; “I am delighted to meet you again!” Then, turning to Gorenflot, he said, “My good Gorenflot, your presence as monk was very necessary just now, when we believed monsieur dying; but now that he is so well, it is with me he must deal; therefore, do me the favor to stand sentinel on the threshold, and prevent any one from coming in to interrupt our little conversation.” Gorenflot, who asked no better than to go, was soon out of the room; but David, having now recovered from his surprise, and confident in his skill as a swordsman, stood waiting for Chicot, with his sword in his hand and a smile on his lips.

“Dress yourself, monsieur,” said Chicot; “I do not wish to take any advantage of you. Do you know what I have come to seek in this room?”

“The rest of the blows which I have owed you on account of the Duc de Mayenne, since that day when you jumped so quickly out of the window.”

“No, monsieur; I know the number, and will return them. Be easy. What I have come for is a certain genealogy which M. Pierre de Gondy took to Avignon, without knowing what he carried, and, equally in ignorance, brought back to you just now.”

David turned pale. “What genealogy?” he said.

“That of M. de Guise, who descends, as you know, in a direct line from Charlemagne.”

“Ah, you are a spy! I thought you only a buffoon.”

“Dear M. David, I will be both if you wish it: a spy to hang you, and a buffoon to laugh at it after.”

“To hang me!”

“High and dry, monsieur; I hope you do not lay claim to be beheaded like a gentleman.”

“And how will you do it?”

“Oh, very easily; I will relate the truth, for I must tell you, dear M. David, that I assisted last month at the meeting held in the convent of St. Geneviève.”

“You!”

“Yes; I was in the confessional in front of yours, and it was very uncomfortable there, especially as I was obliged to wait to go out until all was finished. Therefore I heard all, saw the coronation of M. d’Anjou, which was not very amusing; but then the genealogy was delightful.”

“Ah! you know about the genealogy?” cried David, biting his lips with anger.

“Yes, and I found it very ingenious, especially that part about the Salic law; only it is a misfortune to have so much intellect, one gets hung for it; therefore, feeling myself moved with tender pity for so ingenious a man, I said to myself, ‘Shall I let this brave M. David be hung?’ and I took the resolution of traveling with, or rather behind, you. I followed you, therefore, not without trouble, and at last we arrived at Lyons. I entered the hotel an hour after you, and have been in the adjoining room; look, there is only a partition between, and, as you may imagine, I did not travel all the way from Paris to Lyons to lose sight of you now. I pierced a little hole, through which I had the pleasure of watching you when I liked, and I confess I gave myself this pleasure several times a day. At last you fell ill; the host wished to get rid of you, but you were determined to wait here for M. de Gondy. I was duped by you at first, for you might really have been ill, so I sent you a brave monk, to excite you to repentance; but, hardened sinner that you are, you tried to kill him, forgetting the Scripture maxim, ‘He who strikes with the sword shall perish with the sword.’ Then I came to you, and said, ‘We are old friends; let us arrange the matter.’”

“In what manner?”

“It would be a pity that such a man as you should disappear from the world; give up plots, trust me, break with the Guises, give me your papers, and, on the faith of a gentleman, I will make your peace with the king.”

“While, on the contrary, if I do not give them to you?”

“Ah! then, on the faith of a gentleman, I will kill you! But if you give them to me, all shall be forgotten. You do not believe me, perhaps, for your nature is bad, and you think my resentment can never be forgotten. But, although it is true that I hate you, I hate M. de Mayenne more; give me what will ruin him, and I will save you. And then, perhaps, you will not believe this either, for you love nothing; but I love the king, foolish and corrupted as he is, and I wish that he should reign tranquilly – which is impossible with the Mayennes and the genealogy of Nicolas David. Therefore, give me up the genealogy, and I promise to make your name and your fortune.”

David never moved.

“Well,” said Chicot, “I see all that I say to you is but wasted breath; therefore, I go to get you hanged. Adieu, M. David,” and he stepped backwards towards the door.

“And you think I shall let you go out,” cried the advocate.

“No, no, my fine spy; no, no, Chicot, my friend, those who know of the genealogy must die. Those who menace me must die.”