Father Benedict— Humph!
And you don't wish to know where I have been?
Abbot—'Tis immaterial.
Father Benedict— That is another proof
You envy me. First, you conceal from me
That which you feared would blow my name abroad;
And now you fear to hear where I have been
Because from what you know of me you know
Whatever comes I meet events as friends,
And never sally out but I return
With spoil, and that stirs up the green in you.
Now I will tell it though the heavens fall.
Old Hartzel's dead.
Abbot— I find no joy in that.
Father Benedict—Of course, you don't.
Rene—(Calling across the court.) Old Hartzel's dead!
Basil—(Under his breath.) Thank God!
(The monks upon the chapel steps and others sitting about upon the benches start up and gather forward.)
Father Benedict—You don't think I told that to give you joy?
Abbot—It matters nothing to me in either case.