and lawyers, a common mariner of the Lake of Tiberias, who by his
gross cowardice had become the laughing-stock of the kitchen wenches
who warmed themselves with him in the courtyard of the high priest,
a churl and a dastard, who denied his master and his faith before
slatterns certainly not so pretty by far as the chamber-maid of the
bailiff's wife at Seez, wears the triple crown, the pontifical ring
on his finger and rules over princes and bishops, over kings and
emperors, is invested with the right to bind and loose; the most
respectable of men, the most honest dame, cannot enter heaven unless
he gives them admission.

"But tell me, Tournebroche, my boy, at what part of my narrative had
I arrived when I got muddled over that great Saint Peter, the prince
of apostles? If I remember well I spoke to you of a glass of white
wine I drank at daybreak. I came down to the pantry in my shirt, and
took out of a certain cupboard, the key of which I had prudently
kept by me the day before, a bottle, the contents of which I emptied
with no little pleasure. Afterwards reascending the stairs I met,
between the second and third flights, a tiny damsel clad as a
pierrot, who descended the steps. She seemed to be mightily afraid,
and fled into the farthest corner of the passage. I followed her,
caught her, took her in my arms, and kissed her in a sudden and
irresistible outbreak of sympathy. Don't blame me, my boy; in my
place you would have done as much, perhaps more. It was a pretty
girl, reminding me of the serving-maid of the bailiff's wife, but
with more vivacity in her looks. She did not dare to scream. She
whispered breathless in my ear: 'Leave me, leave me; you're mad!'
Look here, Tournebroche, I still have the marks of her finger nails
on my wrist. O that I could keep as vivid on my lips the impression
of the kiss she gave me!"