"A bishopess smells of holy water—the bishop blesses; a count's wife smells of wine—the count, her husband, drinks himself drunk."
"Wolf's-Tooth, it is exactly the contrary: the wily prelate drinks the wine, and leaves the water to the stupid Frank."
"Ronan is right!"
"To the devil with the holy water, and long live wine!"
"Yes, long live the wine of Clermont, with which Luern, the great Auvergnan chief of former days, used to fill up the ditches wide as ponds, in order to refresh the warriors of his tribe."
"That would have been a cup worthy of you, Wolf's-Tooth! But, brothers, do answer me; to whom shall we give the preference, to a bishopess or to a count's wife?"
"To the bishopess! To the bishopess!"
"No, to the count's wife!"
"Brothers, so as to please all, we shall take both—"
"Well said, Ronan!"