You may have to complain of your lodging--I have other things to think of to-night than hospitality, But you shall not need to complain of your supper." He drew aside the curtain as he spoke, and passed into the next room before us, not giving a thought apparently to the possibility that we might strike him from behind.

There certainly was an odd quality apparent in him at times which seemed to contradict what we knew of him.
The room we entered was rather long than wide, hung with tapestry, and lighted by silver lamps.

Rich plate, embossed, I afterwards learned, by Cellini the Florentine--who died that year I remember--and richer glass from Venice, with a crowd of meaner vessels filled with meats and drinks covered the table; disordered as by the attacks of a numerous party.

But save a servant or two by the distant dresser, and an ecclesiastic at the far end of the table, the room was empty.
The priest rose as we entered, the Vidame saluting him as if they had not met that day.

"You are welcome M.le Coadjuteur," he said; saying it coldly, however, I thought.