As they left Paris behind and rode down the Orleans road, it soon became evident that they had changed their surroundings. Men-at-arms, Scots Guards, with great white crosses on their blue tabards, glared at the four suspiciously. Cavaliers glanced suspiciously as they galloped past. Some halted, as if only prevented from investigating the circumstances by the haste of their mission. Gay young men, on passaging horses, half drew their swords and growled unintelligible remarks, desisting only at the sight of Claire Agnew’s pale face underneath her hood.

“What can be the matter?” they asked each other. “Why do we, who passed through swarming Paris in the flood-tide of rebellion, who scrambled on barricades and were given drink by the King’s enemies why should we now be looked askance at, riding peaceably Orleans-ward on our own hired beasts?”

None found an answer, but deep in every heart there was the conviction, universal in such a case, that somehow it was the other fellow’s fault. It was Cabbage Jock who solved the mystery.

“In Rome you must do as the Romans,” he said; “in Babylon’s cursed city, though an abomination to do obeisance to the great whore (as sayeth the Scripture), I have found it of remarkable service to don her uniform occasionally even as Paul did when he took shelter behind his Roman citizenship. It is that green furred gown of yours, Sir Professor! These be King’s men, hasting after the Master of the Mignons. I’ll wager the nest is empty and the bird flown from under the pents of the Louvre.”

“And what shall I do?” said the Professor of the Sorbonne, looking regretfully at the fine Spanish cloth and rich fur. “Am I to cast away a matter of twenty good golden Henries?”

“By no means,” said Cabbage Jock; “I came away somewhat hastily, to do you service. I have no saddle saving these two millers’ bags. I will fold the good gown beneath the two, and so sit comfortable as on an ale-house couch, while you will ride safe ”

“And plumeless as a docked parrot,” said the Abbe John, who was now sufficiently far from Paris to begin to laugh at his master at least a little, and in an affectionate way.

The Professor looked disconsolate enough as he suffered his fine cloak to be stripped from his back.

“Ne’er mind,” quoth Jean-aux-Choux, “we will soon right that. I know these King’s men, and ’tis the Pope’s own purgatory of a warm day. There are inns by the wayside, and wherever one is held by a well-made hostess, who lets poor puss come to the cream without so much ‘Hist-a-cat-ing,’ I’ll wager they will leave their cloaks in the hall. So we will come by a coat of the King’s colours, all scallops and Breton ermines in memory of poor Queen Anne.”

“I will not have you steal a cloak, sirrah,” said the Professor; “indeed, I am nowise satisfied in my mind concerning these horses we are riding.”

“Steal not I,” cried the Fool; “not likely, and the Montfacon gibbet at one’s elbow yonder, with the crows a-swirling and pecking about it as in the time of naughty Clerk Francis. Nay, I thank you. I have money here to pay for a gross of cloaks!”

And Cabbage Jock slapped his pocket as he spoke which indeed, thus interrogated, gave back a most satisfactory jingle of coin.

The Professor had first of all meant to point out to Jean-aux-Choux that to have the money in his pocket, and to pay it out, were two things entirely different, when it came to borrowing other men’s cloaks, but something else leaped up in his mind, sudden as a trout in a pool. He turned upon Jean-aux-Choux.

“How do you know about Clerk Francis and the gallows at Montfacon?” he demanded. For at first, with the ear of a man accustomed to talk only to men who pick up allusions as pigeons do scattered grain, he had accepted the words without question.

“How am I to know?” retorted Jean-aux-Choux. “One hears so many things. I do not know.”

“But,” said the Professor of Eloquence, pursuing his idea, “there are not many even at the Sorbonne, which is the grave of wisdom whence is no resurrection (I am of the Sadducean faction), who have heard tell of one Clerk Francois Villon, Master of Arts, and once an ornament of our University. How came you to know of him? Come now, out with it! You are hiding something!”

“Sir,” said the Fool, “I have made sport for Kings of the Louvre and Kings of Bedlam; for Henry of yesterday, who is Henry of Valois; for Henry of to-day, who is Henry of Guise; and for Henry of to-morrow, who is ”

But the Professor of the Sorbonne was a man of sense, and he knew that the place for discussing such things was by no means on the Orleans highway.

So he commanded Jean-aux-Choux to trouble no more about royal Henries past, present, and especially Henries to come, but to be off and find him a cloak.

Then Cabbage Jock, in no haste, simply glanced at the ale-house doors as they came near Bourg-la-Reine, and at last with a wave of his hand signalled his three companions to ride on.

When he overtook them an hour afterwards, Bourg-la-Reine was hidden far behind among the wayside trees. Jean-aux-Choux saluted, and asked in a quiet man-servant’s voice if the honourable Doctor would be pleased to put on his coat.

“Then, you gallows’ rascal,” said the Professor of the Sorbonne, “it was true, after all. You have stolen the cloak, and you would have me, a respectable citizen, reset the theft!”

Jean-aux-Choux held up his hand.

“Sir,” he said, “I have often heard from my masters that it is the special function of a cook to make ready the soup, and of the Sorbonne to resolve cases of conscience?”

“Well, then,” he went on, as Doctor Anatole did not answer, “here is one.”

“In an ale-house were certain sons of Belial, whose very jesting was inconvenient, and their words not once to be named among us, as sayeth the apostle. Well, there came a certain braggart out of this foul poison-box. He had seen an honest man pass by, fleeing from Paris, with all his goods laden on a mule. Now this knave would have taken all and slain the honest merchant as well, had I not passed by, and so belaboured him that he will not rise from his bed for a fortnight. Then the good merchant (he was a Jew from the Quartier Saint Jacques) bade me choose what I would for my recompense. And so from his packages I chose this fine cloak, fit for the Provost of the Merchants himself, and with that he thanked me and went his way.”

“And what,” cried the Abbe John, hugely interested, “became of that rascal’s companions? It is strange that, hearing the racket, they did not hive out to his assistance! Yesterday they hamstrung a man for less an archer of the King’s!”

“It would indeed have been somewhat strange,” agreed Cabbage Jock, “if, before our little interview, I had not taken the liberty of locking both the outer and inner doors of the inn. But they have nothing to complain about, these good lads. They have a kindly hostess and a full cellar. E’en let them be content!”

And with no more words he took out of his pouch two keys, one large and rusty, the other small and glittering. These he tossed carefully, one after the other, into the Orge. They were just upon the famous bridge across which the postillion of Longjumeau so often took his way. The keys flashed a moment on the water as the drops rose and fell. Then Cabbage Jock turned on his companions and smiled his broad simpleton’s smile as he waved his hand in the direction of the inn.

“Let there be peace,” he said solemnly “peace between Jew and Gentile. Will it please you to put on your coat now, Sir Professor?”

And as the air bit shrewdly, it pleased the Professor well enough.