"Who is this old wallet-bearer?" said the irritated monk.
"Because I carry a wallet it does not follow that I ask alms of you, Reverend Father," said Croustillac.
"What dost thou want, then?"
"I ask a supper and a shelter because your rich convent can well afford to give bread and shelter to poor travelers. Charity commands this from your abbot. And beside, in sheltering Christians, you do not give, you restore. Your abbey grows very fat from its tithes."
"Wilt thou be quiet, thou old heretic, thou insolent old fellow!"
"You call me an insolent old fellow. Very well; learn, Don Surly, that I have still a crown in my wallet, and that I can do without your straw and your soup, Don Ribald."
"What dost thou mean by Don Ribald, rascal that thou art?" said the lay brother, advancing to the top of the steps. "Take care lest I give thy old rags a good shaking."
"Since we thee-and-thou each other, Don Drinker, take care in thy turn, Don Greedy, that I do not make thee taste of my stick, Don Big Paunch, infirm as I am, Don Brutal."
The vigorous monk for a moment made as though he was about to descend to chastise the Gascon, but he shrugged his shoulders and said to Croustillac: "If thou hast ever the impudence to present thyself at the porter's lodge, thou wilt be thrashed to some purpose. That is the kind of hospitality thou wilt receive henceforth from the Abbey of St. Quentin." Then addressing himself to the children: "And you be sure to tell your father that in eight days he pays or quits the farm, for, I repeat to you, that there is a farmer more solvent than he who wants it."
The monk shut the door brusquely.