The abbé gave Buttrebeurrousse a piercing glance, and said, "Sooner or later, I am firmly convinced, the honest man is recompensed and the wicked punished."
"It is your state that makes you say that, Your Reverence, for you abbés need no mushrooms," replied the innkeeper bitterly.
"You are wrong," replied the priest. "And perhaps I myself, tout à l'heure, will prove the veracity of my statement to you."
"What do you mean?" asked the innkeeper.
"First I must verify that you are the person with whom I am concerned. Did you know a sailor named Gamgès?"
"Gamgès! Did I know him! I should think so, le pauvre Samouard! He was even one of my best friends!" cried Buttrebeurrousse, while the clear and confident eye of the priest seemed to dilate to cover in entirety him whom he interrogated. "And what happened, monsieur, to le petit Samouard? Do you know him? Is he alive? Is he happy? Is his pipe-weed properly seasoned? Is he bound up with the fate of Arda?"
"He died in prison, more wretched and desperate than the Orcs who labor in the salt-mines of Morie," replied the abbé.
