"I would be willing to feed on the offal of swine, clothe myself in thorns that tear my skin to the veins—my happiness will be all the greater in paradise!"
"The Lord created the grain, the grapes, the honey, the fruits, the creamy milk, the soft fleece of the sheep—was all that done in order that any of His creatures should live on ordure and dress in thorns? Answer me, my poor brother."
"You are an impious fellow!"
"Alas! Almost all the slaves are, like this unhappy fellow, steeped in the abjectest besotment—the evil spreads by the day—it is done for old Gaul—"
"If so, let us sing the refrain of the Vagres:
"The Franks call us 'Wand'ring Men,' 'Wolves,' 'Wolves' Heads'—Let us live like wolves! Let us live in joy! In summer under the green foliage, in winter in caverns warm!"
"Come, Simon, the bishop's miracle must be over by this time."
"Yes—I shall precede you alone, a little way in this underground passage; should I see light I shall return and notify you."
"But what about that slave, who is mumbling his prayers on his knees to the great St. Loup?"
"Lightning might strike at his very feet and he would not budge from the spot—he will go back as he came, on his knees. Follow me!"