"But the grey cloak, Monsieur Paul . . ." began the lackey.
"What! you have dared to soil it?"
"No, Monsieur; but you have forgotten that you loaned it to Monsieur de
Saumaise, prior to your departure to Italy. He has not returned it."
"That's not like Victor. And I had dreamed of wearing that cloak.
Mademoiselle complimented me on it, and that fop De Montausier asked me
how many pistoles I paid for it."
"The purple cloak is new, Monsieur. It is fully as handsome as the
grey one. All it lacks is the square collar you invented."
"Ah well, since there is no grey cloak. Now the gossip. First of all,
my debts and debtors."
"Monsieur de Saumaise," said Breton, "has remitted the ten louis he
lost to you at tennis."
"There's a friend; ruined himself to do it. Poetry and improvidence;
how they cling together!"
"Brisemont, the jeweler, says that the garters you ordered will come to
one hundred and ten pistoles. But he wants to know what the central
gem shall be, rubies or sapphires surrounding."
"Topaz for the central gem, rubies and diamonds for the rest. The
clasps must match topaz eyes. And they must be done by Monday."
"Monsieur's eyes are grey," the lackey observed slyly.
"Rascal, you are asking a question!"
"No, Monsieur, I was simply stating a fact. Plutarch says . . ."
"Plutarch? What next?" in astonishment.
"I have just bought a copy of Amyot's translation with the money you
gave me. Plutarch is fine, Monsieur."
"What shall a gentleman do when his lackey starts to quote Plutarch?"
with mock helplessness. "Well, lad, read Plutarch and profit. But
keep your grimy hands off my Rabelais, or I'll trounce you."
Breton flushed guiltily. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than
another it was the adventures of the worthy Pantagruel and his
resourceful esquire; but he had never been able to complete this record
of extravagant exploits, partly because he could not read fast enough
and partly because his master kept finding new hiding places for it.
"A messenger from De Guitaut," he said, "called this morning for you."
"For me? That is strange. The captain knew that I could not arrive
before to-night, which is the twentieth."
"I told the officer that. He laughed curiously and said that he
expected to find you absent."
"What the devil did he call for, then?"
Breton made a grimace which explained his inability to answer this
question.
The Chevalier stood still and twisted his mustache till the ends were
like needle-points. "Horns of Panurge! as Victor would say; is it
possible for any man save Homer to be in two places at once? Possibly
I am to race for some other end of France. I like it not. Mazarin
thinks because I am in her Majesty's Guards that I belong to him.
Plague take him, I say."