I killed him on his own threshold, and gained as much gold as made this fair chain, which was once twice as long as it now is--and that minds me to send part of it on an holy errand .-- Here, Andrew--Andrew!" Andrew, his yeoman, entered, dressed like the Archer himself in the general equipment, but without the armour for the limbs--that of the body more coarsely manufactured--his cap without a plume, and his cassock made of serge, or ordinary cloth, instead of rich velvet.
Untwining his gold chain from his neck, Balafre twisted off, with his firm and strong set teeth, about four inches from the one end of it, and said to his attendant, "Here, Andrew, carry this to my gossip, jolly Father Boniface, the monk of St.Martin's; greet him well from me, by the same token that he could not say God save ye when we last parted at midnight .-- Tell my gossip that my brother and sister, and some others of my house, are all dead and gone, and I pray him to say masses for their souls as far as the value of these links will carry him, and to do on trust what else may be necessary to free them from Purgatory.

And hark ye, as they were just living people, and free from all heresy, it may be that they are well nigh out of limbo already, so that a little matter may have them free of the fetlocks; and in that case, look ye, ye will say I desire to take out the balance of the gold in curses upon a generation called the Ogilvies of Angus Shire, in what way soever the church may best come at them.

You understand all this, Andrew ?" The coutelier nodded.
"Then look that none of the links find their way to the wine house ere the monk touches them; for if it so chance, thou shalt taste of saddle girth and stirrup leather till thou art as raw as Saint Bartholomew [he was flayed alive.

In Michael Angelo's Last Judgment he is represented as holding his skin in his hand]--Yet hold, I see thy eye has fixed on the wine measure, and thou shalt not go without tasting." So saying, he filled him a brimful cup, which the coutelier drank off, and retired to do his patron's commission.
"And now, fair nephew, let us hear what was your own fortune in this unhappy matter." "I fought it out among those who were older and stouter than I was, till we were all brought down," said Durward, "and I received a cruel wound." "Not a worse slash than I received ten years since myself," said Le Balafre.

"Look at this, now, my fair nephew," tracing the dark crimson gash which was imprinted on his face.--"An Ogilvy's sword never ploughed so deep a furrow." "They ploughed deep enough," answered Quentin, sadly, "but they were tired at last, and my mother's entreaties procured mercy for me, when I was found to retain some spark of life; but although a learned monk of Aberbrothik, who chanced to be our guest at the fatal time, and narrowly escaped being killed in the fray, was permitted to bind my wounds, and finally to remove me to a place of safety, it was only on promise, given both by my mother and him, that I should become a monk." "A monk!" exclaimed the uncle.