Goose-Skin (stretching himself more and more at his ease over the prostrate body of his adversary)—"Even if I wanted to rise, I could not, I am so completely out of breath. Besides, I feel myself quite comfortable upon the round cushion under me."
The Hooded Man—"Help! Murder! This beggar is breaking my ribs—Help!"
Mylio (quickly stooping down)—"I know this voice! (He removes the hood that hides the face of the vanquished man) Abbot Reynier! The superior of the Abbey of Citeaux!"
Goose-Skin (with a rude up-and-down wabble that draws a moan from the monk)—"An abbot! I have the round body of an abbot for mattress! Oxhorns! Suppose I take a nap! I would surely dream of pretty nuns and good fare!"
Mylio (to the monk)—"Ha! Ha! Sir Ribald! Consumed by your lustful appetite you could not wait until to-morrow to eat the dainty dish of fritters that you yesterday spoke about to me. Aye, driven by your voracious hunger, you meant to introduce yourself this very night into the house of the infamous Chaillotte, feeling assured that she would be ready to dance attendance upon you at all hours! Ha! Ha! Sir Priapus! You are there like a fox caught in a trap!"
Goose-Skin—"I was hidden in the shadow, when I saw this fellow slinking up to the hedge and making ready to climb it. Like a true Caesar, I fell upon him when he was out of his balance—and I shall hold him. I am on top! The enemy is vanquished!"
Abbot Reynier—"Oh, you brace of vile jugglers! You will pay dearly for this outrage!"
Mylio—"You speak truly, Reynier, abbot superior of the monks of Citeaux of the Abbey of St. Victor! To-morrow it will be daylight, and that daylight will expose your shame! You tonsured hypocrites may impose upon simpletons and fools, but my valiant friend Goose-Skin and myself are neither simpletons nor poltroons! We also enjoy a certain power! Now, remember this, Sir Ribald. Should you be foolhardy enough to try to do us some injury in revenge for this night's affair, we shall put it into a song—Goose-Skin for the taverns, myself for the castles. By heaven! From one end of Gaul to the other the lay will be sung of 'Reynier, Abbot of Citeaux, going at night to snoop fritters at Chaillotte's, the miller's wife, and getting only blows for his pains.'"
Goose-skin—"You fat monastic debauchee, trust to me for adding all the needed zest to the music!"
Abbot Reynier (panting for breath)—"You are sacrilegious wretches—I am here at your mercy—I promise you to keep quiet. But, Mylio, are you after my life? Order this monstrous varlet of yours to roll off me—I am suffocating! Mercy!"