"Why not? Tell me, does the game of tennis please your fancy?"
"I fairly dote on it."
"In that case I invite you to a game with me next Sunday."
"Where, pray?"
"At the Hôtel de Nesle."
"Gramercy! my lord grand master of the royal châteaux! 'T is meet that you should know my name at least—"
But as the young stranger knew all that he cared to know, and as the rest probably interested him but little, he heard not a word of his new friend's story, as he proceeded to tell him in detail that his name was Jacques Aubry, that he was a scrivener at the University, and was now returning from the Pré-aux-Clercs, where he had had an assignation with his tailor's wife; that she, detained no doubt by her wrathful spouse, did not appear; that he had consoled himself for Simonne's absence by drinking good Suresne; and, lastly, that he proposed to withdraw his custom from the discourteous Master Snip, who compelled him to wear himself out with waiting, and to get tipsy which was altogether opposed to all his habits.
When the two young men reached Rue de la Harpe, Jacques Aubry pointed out to our unknown the road he was to follow, which he knew even better than his informant: they then made an appointment for the following Sunday at noon at the Porte de Nesle, and parted, one singing, the other dreaming.
He who dreamed had abundant food for dreaming, for he had learned more during that one evening than in the three weeks preceding.
He had learned that the maiden to whom he had given his heart, lived at the Petit-Nesle, that she was the daughter of Messire Robert d'Estourville, Provost of Paris, and that her name was Colombe. As will be seen, he had not wasted his day.