"Did not the great Clovis also kill all his relatives for their heritage, and yet you declare that he entered paradise. I also wish to go there, and I have killed fewer people. If you do not promise paradise to me on the spot and without any further payments, if you refuse to give me absolution, I shall have you torn into pieces by four horses, or hacked to pieces by my leudes."
"And I tell you that if you do not expiate your fratricide by a gift to the Church, you shall go to hell, like a new Cain who killed his brother."
"What you are after is my hundred acres of meadow land, my twenty gold sous, and my pretty little blonde slave."
"What I am after is the salvation of your soul, unhappy man! What I aim at is to save you the torments of hell, the very thought of which should make you shudder with terror."
"You are always talking of hell. Where is hell?"
Bishop Cautin again struck the floor with his feet under the table.
"Count, do you smell that odor of sulphur?"
"I do feel a pungent odor."
"Do you see the smoke that is coming up from between those stone slabs?"
"Whence does that smoke proceed?" cried Neroweg affrighted, rising from the table and jumping back from a near place where a thick black vapor was curling upward. "Bishop, what magic is this? Come to my help!"