THE MYSTERIOUS MONK.
The shop of “Eve’s Apple” was in the University, at the of the Rue de la Rondelle and the Rue de la Bâtonnier. It was a very and very low on the ground floor, with a rested upon a of painted yellow; tables everywhere, on the walls, always a large number of drinkers, a of wenches, a window on the street, a at the door, and over the door a piece of sheet-iron, painted with an apple and a woman, by the rain and with the wind on an iron pin. This of weather-vane which looked upon the was the signboard.
Night was falling; the square was dark; the wine-shop, full of candles, like a in the gloom; the noise of and feasting, of and quarrels, which through the panes, was audible. Through the which the of the room spread over the window in front, a hundred be swarming, and from time to time a of noisy from it. The passers-by who were going about their business, past this window without at it. Only at did some little boy himself on as as the ledge, and into the drinking-shop, that ancient, hoot, with which men were then pursued: “Aux Houls, saouls, saouls, saouls!”
Nevertheless, one man and in of the tavern, at it incessantly, and going no from it than a from his sentry-box. He was in a to his very nose. This he had just purchased of the old-clothes man, in the of the “Eve’s Apple,” no to protect himself from the cold of the March evening, possibly also, to his costume. From time to time he paused in of the window with its lattice, listened, looked, and his foot.
At length the door of the dram-shop opened. This was what he appeared to be waiting for. Two came forth. The of light which from the door for a moment their faces.
The man in the and himself on the watch under a on the other of the street.
“Corne et tonnerre!” said one of the comrades. “Seven o’clock is on the point of striking. ’Tis the hour of my meeting.”
“I tell you,” his companion, with a thick tongue, “that I don’t live in the Rue Mauvaises Paroles, habitat. I have a in the Rue Jean-Pain-Mollet, in Johannis Pain-Mollet. You are more than a if you the contrary. Every one that he who once a is after afraid; but you have a nose to like Saint-Jacques of the hospital.”
“Jehan, my friend, you are drunk,” said the other.
The other staggering, “It you to say so, Phœbus; but it been proved that Plato had the profile of a hound.”
The reader has, no doubt, already our two friends, the captain and the scholar. It that the man who was in wait for them had also them, for he slowly all the that the the captain to make, who being a more had all his self-possession. By to them attentively, the man in the catch in its the conversation,—
“Corbacque! Do try to walk straight, master bachelor; you know that I must you. Here it is seven o’clock. I have an with a woman.”
“Leave me then! I see and of fire. You are like the Château de Dampmartin, which is with laughter.”
“By the of my grandmother, Jehan, you are with too much rabidness. By the way, Jehan, have you any money left?”
“Monsieur Rector, there is no mistake; the little butcher’s shop, boucheria.”
“Jehan! my friend Jehan! You know that I an with that little girl at the end of the Pont Saint-Michel, and I can only take her to the Falourdel’s, the old of the bridge, and that I must pay for a chamber. The old with a white would not trust me. Jehan! for pity’s sake! Have we up the whole of the curé’s purse? Have you not a single left?”
“The of having the other hours well is a just and for the table.”
“Belly and guts! a to your nonsense! Tell me, Jehan of the devil! have you any money left? Give it to me, bédieu! or I will search you, were you as as Job, and as as Cæsar!”
“Monsieur, the Rue Galiache is a which at one end the Rue de la Verrerie, and at the other the Rue de la Tixeranderie.”
“Well, yes! my good friend Jehan, my comrade, the Rue Galiache is good, very good. But in the name of your wits. I must have a parisis, and the is for seven o’clock.”
“Silence for the rondo, and attention to the refrain,—
“Quand cas,
Le d’Arras;
Quand la mer, et lée
Sera à la Saint-Jean gelée,
On verra, par-dessus la glace,
Sortir d’Arras de place.”[43]
“Well, of Antichrist, may you be with the of your mother!” Phœbus, and he gave the a push; the against the wall, and to the of Philip Augustus. A of pity, which the of a drinker, Phœbus to roll Jehan with his upon one of those of the poor, which Providence in at the of all the of Paris, and which the rich with the name of “a rubbish-heap.” The captain Jehan’s upon an plane of cabbage-stumps, and on the very instant, the to in a bass. Meanwhile, all was not in the captain’s heart. “So much the if the devil’s you up on its passage!” he said to the poor, sleeping clerk; and he off.
The man in the mantle, who had not to him, for a moment the scholar, as though by indecision; then, a sigh, he also off in of the captain.
We, like them, will Jehan to the open sky, and will them also, if it the reader.
On into the Rue Saint-André-des-Arcs, Captain Phœbus that some one was him. On by chance, he a of after him along the walls. He halted, it halted; he his march, it its march. This him not overmuch. “Ah, bah!” he said to himself, “I have not a sou.”
He paused in of the College d’Autun. It was at this college that he had sketched out what he called his studies, and, through a scholar’s which still in him, he passed the façade without on the of Cardinal Pierre Bertrand, to the right of the portal, the of which Priapus so in the of Horace, Olim ficulnus. He had done this with so much that the inscription, Eduensis episcopus, had almost effaced. Therefore, he the according to his wont. The was deserted. At the moment when he was his knots, with his nose in the air, he saw the him with slow steps, so slow that he had time to that this a and a hat. On near him, it and more than the of Cardinal Bertrand. Meanwhile, it upon Phœbus two eyes, full of that light which in the night time from the of a cat.
The captain was brave, and would have very little for a highwayman, with a in his hand. But this walking statue, this man, his blood. There were then in circulation, of a monk, a about the of Paris, and they to his memory. He for minutes in stupefaction, and the with a laugh.
“Monsieur, if you are a robber, as I you are, you produce upon me the of a a nutshell. I am the son of a family, my dear fellow. Try your hand near by here. In the of this college there is some of the true set in silver.”
The hand of the from its and upon the arm of Phœbus with the of an eagle’s talon; at the same time the spoke,—
“Captain Phœbus de Châteaupers!”
“What, the devil!” said Phœbus, “you know my name!”
“I know not your name alone,” the man in the mantle, with his voice. “You have a this evening.”
“Yes,” Phœbus in amazement.
“At seven o’clock.”
“In a of an hour.”
“At la Falourdel’s.”
“Precisely.”
“The of the Pont Saint-Michel.”
“Of Saint Michel the archangel, as the Pater Noster saith.”
“Impious wretch!” the spectre. “With a woman?”
“Confiteor,—I confess—.”
“Who is called—?”
“La Smeralda,” said Phœbus, gayly. All his had returned.
At this name, the shadow’s the arm of Phœbus in a fury.
“Captain Phœbus de Châteaupers, liest!”
Any one who have at that moment the captain’s countenance, his backwards, so that he himself from the which him, the proud air with which he his hand on his swordhilt, and, in the presence of this the of the man in the cloak,—any one who have this would have been frightened. There was in it a touch of the of Don Juan and the statue.
“Christ and Satan!” the captain. “That is a word which the ear of a Châteaupers! Thou not repeat it.”
“Thou liest!” said the coldly.
The captain his teeth. Surly monk, phantom, superstitions,—he had all at that moment. He no longer anything but a man, and an insult.
“Ah! this is well!” he stammered, in a voice with rage. He his sword, then stammering, for anger as well as makes a man tremble: “Here! On the spot! Come on! Swords! Swords! Blood on the pavement!”
But the other stirred. When he his on and to parry,—
“Captain Phœbus,” he said, and his with bitterness, “you your appointment.”
The of men like Phœbus are milk-soups, is by a of cold water. This the which in the captain’s hand to be lowered.
“Captain,” the man, “to-morrow, the day after to-morrow, a month hence, ten years hence, you will me to cut your throat; but go to your rendezvous.”
“In sooth,” said Phœbus, as though to with himself, “these are two to be in a rendezvous,—a and a wench; but I do not see why I should miss the one for the of the other, when I can have both.”
He replaced his in its scabbard.
“Go to your rendezvous,” said the man.
“Monsieur,” Phœbus with some embarrassment, “many thanks for your courtesy. In fact, there will be time to-morrow for us to up father Adam’s into and buttonholes. I am to you for me to pass one more of an hour. I did to put you in the gutter, and still arrive in time for the one, as it has a to make the wait a little in such cases. But you me as having the air of a man, and it is to our until to-morrow. So I will myself to my rendezvous; it is for seven o’clock, as you know.” Here Phœbus his ear. “Ah. Corne Dieu! I had forgotten! I haven’t a to the price of the garret, and the old will on being paid in advance. She me.”
“Here is the to pay.”
Phœbus the stranger’s cold hand into his a large piece of money. He not from taking the money and pressing the hand.
“Vrai Dieu!” he exclaimed, “you are a good fellow!”
“One condition,” said the man. “Prove to me that I have been and that you were speaking the truth. Hide me in some I can see this woman is the one name you uttered.”
“Oh!” Phœbus, “’tis all one to me. We will take, the Sainte-Marthe chamber; you can look at your from the hard by.”
“Come then,” said the shadow.
“At your service,” said the captain, “I know not you are Messer Diavolus in person; but let us be good friends for this evening; to-morrow I will you all my debts, of and sword.”
They set out again at a pace. At the of a minutes, the of the river to them that they were on the Pont Saint-Michel, then with houses.
“I will you the way,” said Phœbus to his companion, “I will then go in search of the one who is me near the Petit-Châtelet.”
His no reply; he had not a word since they had been walking by side. Phœbus a low door, and roughly; a light its through the of the door.
“Who is there?” a voice.
“Corps-Dieu! Tête-Dieu! Ventre-Dieu!” the captain.
The door opened instantly, and allowed the new-comers to see an old woman and an old lamp, of which trembled. The old woman was double, in tatters, with a head, with two small eyes, and with a dish clout; everywhere, on hands and and neck; her under her gums, and about her mouth she had of white which gave her the look of a cat.
The of the was no less than she; there were walls, in the ceiling, a chimney-piece, spiders’ in all the corners, in the middle a of tables and stools, a dirty child among the ashes, and at the a staircase, or rather, a ladder, which ended in a in the ceiling.
On entering this lair, Phœbus’s his to his very eyes. Meanwhile, the captain, like a Saracen, to “make the sun in a crown” as our Régnier.
“The Sainte-Marthe chamber,” said he.
The old woman him as monseigneur, and up the in a drawer. It was the coin which the man in the black had to Phœbus. While her was turned, the bushy-headed and little boy who was playing in the ashes, approached the drawer, the crown, and put in its place a which he had from a fagot.
The old a to the two gentlemen, as she called them, to her, and the in of them. On at the upper story, she set her lamp on a coffer, and, Phœbus, like a visitor of the house, opened a door which opened on a dark hole. “Enter here, my dear fellow,” he said to his companion. The man in the without a word in reply, the door closed upon him; he Phœbus it, and a moment later the stairs again with the hag. The light had disappeared.
