Father Benedict— (Stretching out his right arm.)
On those that aid them?
Abbot— Yes, and on—
Father Benedict— Him, then.
(From his right hand he drops the silver crucifix and, with the forefinger of his left, points at Oswald. The latter starts, shrinking in terror from the curse. The Abbot and Louis, dumbfounded, stare wide-eyed at the crucifix which dangles from its cord about the Priest's finger. The latter, after regarding with an expression of triumph the astonishment of the Abbot, lets the crucifix fall to the table and, reaching across to the other side, pulls the flagon over to himself and proceeds to pour out a cup of wine.)
You're a smart set. You've wormed your way around
To let him out of calling me a dog;
Now let him out of that. You've made it seem—
(He sips the wine.)
Abbot—Where did you find it?
Father Benedict— To yourselves, no doubt,
That he was ignorant of the dream when he
Insinuated that I led the pack
That chased him.
(After a sip of wine.)
Or would lead it.