"Brisemont, the jeweler, says that the garters you ordered will come to
one hundred and ten pistoles. But he wants to know what the central
gem shall be, rubies or sapphires surrounding."

"Topaz for the central gem, rubies and diamonds for the rest. The
clasps must match topaz eyes. And they must be done by Monday."

"Monsieur's eyes are grey," the lackey observed slyly.

"Rascal, you are asking a question!"

"No, Monsieur, I was simply stating a fact. Plutarch says . . ."

"Plutarch? What next?" in astonishment.

"I have just bought a copy of Amyot's translation with the money you
gave me. Plutarch is fine, Monsieur."

"What shall a gentleman do when his lackey starts to quote Plutarch?"
with mock helplessness. "Well, lad, read Plutarch and profit. But
keep your grimy hands off my Rabelais, or I'll trounce you."

Breton flushed guiltily. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than
another it was the adventures of the worthy Pantagruel and his
resourceful esquire; but he had never been able to complete this record
of extravagant exploits, partly because he could not read fast enough
and partly because his master kept finding new hiding places for it.

"A messenger from De Guitaut," he said, "called this morning for you."