broke out angrily, adding a fierce oath which the priest did not
rebuke, "and I shall serve them. But there I stop. You have
your own. Well, serve them, but do not talk to me of the cause!
The cause? To hell with the cause! I have my cause, and you
have yours, and my lord of Guise has his! And you will not make
me believe that there is any other!"

"The king's?" suggested the priest, smiling sourly.

"Say rather the Italian woman's!" the Vidame answered
recklessly--meaning the queen-mother, Catharine de' Medici, I
supposed.

"Well, then, the cause of the Church?" the priest persisted.

"Bah! The Church? It is you, my friend!" Bezers rejoined,
rudely tapping his companion--at that moment in the act of
crossing himself--on the chest. "The Church?" he continued;
"no, no, my friend. I will tell you what you are doing. You
want me to help you to get rid of your branch, and you offer in
return to aid me with mine--and then, say you, there will be no
stick left to beat either of us. But you may understand once for
all"--and the Vidame struck his hand heavily down among the
glasses--"that I will have no interference with my work, master
Clerk! None! Do you hear? And as for yours, it is no business
of mine. That is plain speaking, is it not?"

The priest's hand shook as he raised a full glass to his lips,
but he made no rejoinder, and the Vidame, seeing we had finished,
rose. "Armand!" he cried, his face still dark, "take these