Part 62 (1/2)
”I, who have had no news of France for eighteen years, I know no more than you, my lord, but this is why I concern myself. I left to him the price of the Unicorn; he is a good and honest priest; if he still lives, there must remain to him some of it, for he would have been prudent and careful in his almsgiving. My advice would be to seek to know where the Reverend Father is, for if the good G.o.d has willed that he should have kept some good morsel from the Unicorn, own, my lord, that this would not be bad eating at this moment; if not for you, at least, for these two beautiful children, for my heart bleeds to see them with their wooden shoes and their woolen hose, although they may keep their feet warmer than boots of leather and gilded spurs, or shoes of satin with silken hose, should they be red, these hose! red like those I wore in 1690,” added the chevalier, with a sigh. Then he resumed: ”Ah, well! my lord, what say you to my Griffen idea?”
”I say, my friend, that it is an idle hope. Father Griffen is without doubt dead; he will doubtless have left your fortune to some religious community.”
”To the Abbey of St. Quentin, perhaps,” said Angela.
”Zounds! it wants but that! I would instantly set fire to the monastery!”
”Ah--fie! fie! chevalier!” said Angela.
”It is also because I am raging at having done what I did with your two hundred thousand crowns; but could I then imagine that I should find again, as a farmer, the son of a king who handled his diamonds by the shovelful? Ah, it is no use to philosophize here; but to find Father Griffen again if he is still living!”
”And how to find him again?” said Monmouth.
”By seeking him, my lord. I who have no reason for concealing myself, to-morrow I will take up this quest, hobbling around. Nothing is more simple; in truth, I am stupid not to have thought of it sooner. I will direct myself at once to the Superior of Foreign Missions, thus we shall know what we have to look to. The Superior will at least inform me if the good Father is alive or not; and even, on this account, I will to-morrow make a visit to your neighbor, the abbot of St. Quentin. He will tell me what to do about it--how to get this information. I will carry him your hundred crowns; that will be a good way to contrive the interview.”
The three friends pa.s.sed the day together. We leave the reader to imagine the stories, the reminiscences, gay, touching, or sad, which were recalled.
On the morrow Croustillac, who had already made friends with young James, started for the abbey. The amount of the rent, in bright _louis d'or_, was an excellent pa.s.sport to the presence of the treasurer.
”Father,” said Croustillac, ”I have a very important letter to place in the hands of a good priest of the order of Preaching Brothers; I do not know if he is alive or dead; if he is in Europe, or at the end of the world; to whom should I address myself for information on this subject?”
”To one of our canons, my son, who has had much to do with missions, and who, after long and painful apostolic labors, came six months since to repose in a canonicate of our abbey.”
”And when can I see this venerable canon, Father?”
”This very morning. In descending to the court of the cloister, ask a lay brother to conduct you to Father Griffen.”
Croustillac gave so tremendous a blow of his staff on the floor, shouting three times his Muscovite exclamation, ”hurrah! hurrah!
hurrah!” that the reverend treasurer was startled by it, and rang the bell precipitately, thinking he had to do with a madman.
A friar entered.
”Pardon, good Father,” said Croustillac; ”these savage cries, and this no less savage blow of the stick, paint to you the state of my soul, my astonishment, my joy! It is Father Griffen, himself, that I seek.”