"Your master, my lad, has sent me for his grey cloak. Will you give it to me to carry to him?"
"The grey cloak?" repeated Breton, greatly astonished.
"Yes. Be quick about it, as your master complains of the cold."
"Why, Monsieur Paul has not touched the grey cloak . . ."
"Must I get it myself? Be quick!" The vicomte was pale with excitement and impatience.
Breton, without further parley, took down the cloak and passed it over to the vicomte.
"Monsieur will find the collar badly torn," he said.
"If he changes his mind, I will return shortly;" and the vicomte threw the cloak over his arm, left the cabin, and closed the door.
Breton wiped his hands on his breeches as if to wipe away the contaminating touch of the cloak. His eyes were bothering him of late, and he had not read from his favorite book since he left Panurge hunting for the prophetess. Being now awake and having nothing to do, he took down his master's sword and began polishing the blade. He had scarce begun his labor when the door opened and the vicomte stood on the threshold.
"My lad," he said, quietly, "you were right. Your master wants the purple cloak. I was wrong."
Without replying, Breton hung up the grey cloak and took down another.
"Is Monsieur le Vicomte seasick?" he asked.
"It is hunger, lad, which makes me pale."
As the vicomte reappeared upon deck, he saw D'Hérouville biting his nails. He met the questioning glance, and laughed coldly and mirthlessly.
"Chevalier," said the vicomte, "your lackey handed me the grey cloak first."
"Yes; but I recalled its history, and returned with this. Hang me, but you have a peculiar fancy. In your place, I should have burned that cloak long ago."
"I have a morbid fancy for that cloak," returned the Chevalier. "I want it always with me. Murder will out, and that garment will some day . . . No matter."
"Have you ever searched the pockets?" asked D'Hérouville, in a quiet, cool tone.
The vicomte's eyes brightened. There was good metal in this D'Hérouville.
"Searched the pockets?" said the Chevalier. "Not I! I have not touched the cloak since I last wore it. I never expect to touch it. Vicomte, thank you for your trouble." The Chevalier threw the cloak around his shoulders and closed his eyes. The wind, blowing forcefully and steadily into his face produced a drowsiness.