Part 11 (2/2)
And he showed me Catherine under the doorway, clad in nothing but a chemise, her eyes glistening with tears, wringing her hands, more beautiful than ever, and murmuring in a dying voice, which cut deep into my soul:
”Don't kill him! It's Friar Ange, the little friar!”
The rascally lackeys returned, announcing that they had given up the pursuit at the appearance of the watch, but not without driving half a finger deep their pikes in the holy man's behind. The night-caps vanished from the windows, which were closed again, and whilst the young n.o.bleman talked to his followers, I went up to Catherine, whose tears began to dry in the pretty folds of her smile. She said to me:
”The poor friar is safe, but I trembled for him. Men are terrible. When they love you they will not listen to anything.”
”Catherine,” I said, with no slight grudge, ”did you make me come here for no other purpose than to listen to the quarrels of your friends?
Alas! I have no right to take part in them.”
”You would have had, M. Jacques,” she said, ”you should have had, if you had wanted.”
”But,” I continued, ”you are the most courted lady in Paris. You never mentioned yonder young gentleman.”
”I had no occasion to think of him. He came quite unexpectedly.”
”And he surprised you with Friar Ange?”
”He fancied he saw things which did not occur. He is hot-headed and does not want to listen to any reason.”
The half-opened chemise disclosed under transparent laces a breast swollen like a beautiful fruit and adorned like a budding rose. I took her in my arms and covered her bosom with kisses.
”Heavens!” she exclaimed, ”in the street! Before M. d' Anquetil, who sees us.”
”Who is M. d'Anquetil?”
”Pardi! he is the murderer of Friar Ange. Who else do you fancy he may be?”
”True, Catherine, no others are wanted. Your friends surround you in sufficient numbers.”
”M. Jacques, do not insult me, if you please.”
”I do not insult you, Catherine. I acknowledge your charms, to which I should like to render the same homage that others do.”
”M. Jacques, what you have now said smells odiously of the cookshop, of that old codger who is your father.”
”Not so very long ago, Mam'selle Catherine, you were mighty glad to smell its cooking-stove.”
”Fie! the villain! the mean rascal! He outrages a woman!”
And now she began to squeak and squeal, and M d'Anquetil left his servants, came up to us, and pushed her into the house, calling her a cheat and a rake, went into the pa.s.sage behind her, and slammed the door in my face.
CHAPTER XV
In the Library with M. Jerome Coignard--A Conversation on Morals--Taken to M. d'Asterac's Study--Salamanders again--The Solar Powder--A Visit and its Consequences.
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