I had told my old friend nothing of what concerned Barbara; the secret was not mine; therefore he had nothing against M. de Fontelles; yet it seemed as though a good quarrel could be found on the score of general principles. It is strange how many men give their heads for them and how few can give a reason; but God provides every man with a head, and since the stock of brains will not supply all, we draw lots for a share in it. Yes, a pretty quarrel promised; but a moment later Fontelles, seeing no prospect of sport in falling out with an old man of sacred profession, and amused, in spite of his principles, by the Vicar's whimsical talk, chose to laugh rather than to storm, and said with a chuckle:
"Well, kings are like other men."
"Very like," agreed the Vicar. "In what can I serve you, sir?"
"I seek Mr Simon Dale," answered Fontelles.
"Ah, Simon! Poor Simon! What would you with the lad, sir?"
"I will tell that to him. Why do you call him poor?"
"He has been deluded by a high-sounding prophecy, and it has come to little." The Vicar shook his head in gentle regret.
"He is no worse off, sir, than a man who marries," said Fontelles with a smile.
"Nor, it may be, than one who is born," said the Vicar, sighing.