The Grey Cloak | Page 8

father? Congratulations. Monsieur, the
king's uncle, is ailing; I romp to Blois. A cabal is being formed in
Brussels; I gallop away. His Eminence hears of a new rouge; off I go.
And here I have been to Rome and back with a message which made
the pope laugh; is it true that he is about to appoint a successor?
Mazarin, tiring of being a left-handed king, aspires to the mantle of
Saint Peter. Mazarin always selects me for petty service. Why? Oh,
Monsieur le Chevalier, having an income, need not be paid moneys;
because Monsieur le Chevalier was born in the saddle, his father is an
eagle, his grandsire was a centaur. And don't forget the grey cloak, lad,
the apple of my eye, the admiration of the ladies, and the confusion of
mine enemies; my own particular grey cloak." By this time the
Chevalier was getting into his clothes; fine cambrics, silk hose, velvet
pantaloons, grey doublet, and shoes with buckles and red heels.
"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."
He snapped the buckles on his shoes, while Breton drew from its worn
scabbard the Chevalier's campaign rapier, long and flexile, dreaded by
many and respected by all, and thrust it into the new scabbard,
"Ah, Monsieur," said Breton, stirred by that philosophy which, one
gathers from a first reading of Plutarch, "a man is a deal like a sword. If
he be good and true, it matters not into what kind of scabbard he is
thrust."
"Aye, lad; but how much more confidence a handsome scabbard gives
a man! Even a sword, dressed well, attracts the eye; and, heart of mine,
what other aim have we poor mortals than to attract?"
"Madame Boisjoli makes out her charges at twelve louis, including the
keep of the horses."
"That is reasonable, considering my absence. Mignon is an excellent
woman."
"The Vicomte d'Halluys did not come as he promised with the eight
hundred pistoles