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 he lost to you at _vingt-et-un_."
"Ah!" The Chevalier studied the pattern in the rug. "Eh, well, since I had no pistoles, I have lost none. I was deep in wine, and so was he; doubtless he has forgotten. The sight of me will recall his delinquency."
"That is all of the debts and credits, Monsieur."
"The gossip, then, while I trim my nails. Paris can not have stood still like the sun of Joshua's time, simply because I was not here."
"Beaufort has made up with Madame de Montbazon."
"Even old loves can become new loves. Go on."
Breton recounted the other important court news, while the Chevalier nodded, or frowned, as the news affected him.
"I did, but she behaved coarsely and threatened not to cease coming until you had established her in the millinery."
The Chevalier roared with laughter. "And all I did was to kiss the lass and compliment her cheeks. There's a warning for you, lad."
Breton looked aggrieved. His master's gallantries never ceased to cause him secret unrest.
"Yesterday your quarterly remittance from Monsieur le Marquis, your father, arrived."
"Was there a letter?" with subdued eagerness.
"There was nothing but the gold, Monsieur," answered Breton, his eyes lowered. How many times during the past four years had his master asked this question, always to receive the same answer?
The Chevalier's shoulders drooped. "Who brought it?"