a drawer among several rolls of parchment for the inventory of
the abbey of Meriadek. "Here," said he, producing the document, "you
will see from this that the revenues of Meriadek are worth about as much
as those that we draw here.... We may even, by retrenching upon our good
works, by reducing our charities, contribute two hundred gold sous
annually to your treasury."

"You say that rather late," replied Charles turning the leaves of the
inventory which did, indeed, accurately set forth the extent and limits
of the domain of Meriadek. "Have you parchments to write on? I wish to
make the bequest in due form."

"Yes, seigneur," cried the monk in great glee, running to his trunk and
believing himself in full possession of the abbey of Meriadek. "Here is
a roll of parchment, gracious seigneur. Be kind enough to dictate the
terms of the bequest ... unless you prefer to adopt the usual formula."

Saying this the abbot was about to sit down and take pen in hand, when,
pushing him away from the table, Charles said: "Monk, I am not like the
do-nothing and ignorant kings; I know how to write; and I like to
transact my business myself."

Consulting from time to time the parchments that the abbot had handed to
him, and from time to time casting a look upon Berthoald, who had
remained steeped in thought and a stranger to what was going on near
him, Charles began to write. A few steps from the table, and following
the hand of Charles with greedy eyes, the monk was congratulating
himself upon his having thought of the abbey of Meriadek, and he no
doubt was computing the advantage that would accrue to himself by the
exchange. Addressing the chief of the Franks, who was silently writing,
the monk said: "Mighty seigneur, my names are Bonaventure Clement, an
unworthy priest and monk of the order of St. Benoit."

Charles raised his head, looked fixedly at the abbot and a singular
smile played around his lips. He then proceeded to write, and a few
minutes later said: "Wax!... I wish to place my seal on this charter as
a last formality."

The abbot hastened to fetch what he was ordered; Charles pulled from his
finger a large gold ring and placed it on the burning wax. "Now the
charter of the bequest is in good shape."

"Gracious seigneur," cried the abbot extending his hands, "we shall
every day pray that heaven may protect you."

"You have my thanks, monk; disinterested prayers are particularly
agreeable to the Almighty;" and tur