The Helmet of Navarre

      Bertha Runkle
The Helmet of Navarre

t the stair-foot the landlord stopped me. "Here, lad, take a candle. The stairs are dark, and, since I like your looks, I would not have you break your neck." "And give the house a bad name," I said. "No fear of that; my house has a good name. There is no fairer inn in all Paris. And your chamber is a good chamber, though you will have larger, doubtless, when you are Minister of Finance." This raised a laugh among the tavern idlers, for I had been bragging a bit of my prospects. I retorted: "When I am, Maître Jacques, look out for a rise in your taxes."
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