The Forest Lovers

"God be with you, brother gentleman," cried the friar, turning a crab-

apple face upwards.

"And with you, my brother, who carry your slippers," Prosper replied.

"Eh, eh, brother! They go softer than steel for a gouty toe."

"Poor gout, Master Friar, I hope, for Saint Francis' peace of mind."

"My gentleman," said the friar, "let me tell you the truth. I am a

poor devil out of Lucca, built for matrimony and the chimney corner,

as Grandfather Adam was before me. Brother Bonaccord of Outremer they

call me in religion, but ill-accord I am in temper, by reason of the

air of this accursed land, and a most tempestuous blood of my own. For

why! I go to the Dominicans of Wanmouth, supplicating that I am new

landed, and have no convent to my name and establishment in the

Church. They take me in. Ha! they do that. Look now. 'A sop of bread

and wine,' I cry, 'for the love of God.' It is a Catholic food, very

comfortable for the stomach. Ha! they give me beer. Beer? Wet death! I

am by now as gouty as a cardinal, and my eye is inflamed. I think of

the Lucchese--those shafts of joy miscalled women--when I should be

thinking of my profession. I am ready as ever to admit two vows, but

Saint Paul himself cannot reconcile me to the third. Beer, my friend,

beer."

"You will do well enough, friar, if you are going the forest road. You

will find no Lucchesan ladies thereabouts."

"I am none so sure, gentleman. There were tales told at the Wanmouth

hostel. Do you know anything of a very holy place in these parts, the

Abbey of Saint Giles of the Thorn? Black monks, my brother; black as

your stallion."

"I think they are white monks," said Prosper, "Bernardines."

"I spoke of the colour of their deeds, young sir," answered Brother

Bonaccord.

"I know as little of them as of any monks in Christendom, friar,"

Prosper said. "But I have seen the Abbot and spoken with him. Richard

Dieudonné is his name, well friended by the Countess."

"He is well friended by many ladies, some of account, and some of none

at all, by what I hear," said the friar, rather dryly for such a

twinkling spirit.

"Ah, with ladies," Prosper put in, "you have me again; for I know less

of them than of monks, save that both have petticoats. Your pardon,

brother."