"Monsieur," said the archdeacon, in a cold tone, "I am greatly displeased with you."
"Alas!" sighed the scholar.
Dom Claude made his arm-chair describe a quarter circle, and gazed intently at Jehan.
"I am very glad to see you."
This was a formidable exordium. Jehan braced himself for a rough encounter.
"Jehan, complaints are brought me about you every day. What affray was that in which you bruised with a cudgel a little vicomte, Albert de Ramonchamp?"
"Oh!" said Jehan, "a vast thing that! A malicious page amused himself by splashing the scholars, by making his horse gallop through the mire!"
"Who," pursued the archdeacon," is that Mahiet Fargel, whose gown you have torn? Tunicam dechiraverunt, saith the complaint."
"Ah bah! a wretched cap of a Montaigu! Isn't that it?"
"The complaint says tunicam and not cappettam. Do you know Latin?"
Jehan did not reply.
"Yes," pursued the priest shaking his head, "That is the state of learning and letters at the present day. The Latin tongue is hardly understood, Syriac is unknown, Greek so odious that 'tis accounted no ignorance in the most learned to skip a Greek word without reading it, and to say , 'Græcum est non legitur.'"
The scholar raised his eyes boldly. "Monsieur my brother, doth it please you that I shall explain in good French vernacular that Greek word which is written yonder on the wall?"
"What word?"
"ἈΝΆΓΚΗ."
A slight flush spread over the cheeks of the priest with their high bones, like the puff of smoke which announces on the outside the secret commotions of a volcano. The student hardly noticed it.
"Well, Jehan," stammered the elder brother with an effort, "What is the meaning of yonder word?"
