But the young man who, in the
first flush of his enterprise, had feared nothing was beginning to
perceive the difficulties it presented. The solemn gravity of the
terrible Fleming reacted upon him. He felt himself under lock and key,
and remembered how the grand provost Tristan and his rope were at the
orders of Maitre Cornelius.
"Have you supped?" asked the silversmith, in a tone which signified,
"You are not to sup."
The old maid trembled in spite of her brother's tone; she looked at
the new inmate as if to gauge the capacity of the stomach she might
have to fill, and said with a specious smile:--
"You have not stolen your name; your hair and moustache are as black
as the devil's tail."
"I have supped," he said.
"Well then," replied the miser, "you can come back and see me
to-morrow. I have done without an apprentice for some years. Besides,
I wish to sleep upon the matter."
"Hey! by Saint-Bavon, monsieur, I am a Fleming; I don't know a soul in
this place; the chains are up in the streets, and I shall be put in
prison.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58