The Knight filled his goblet and took some fruit. Then, leaving both untouched, turned his chair sidewise, that he might the better face the Bishop, crossed his knees, leaned his right elbow on the table and his head upon his hand, pushing his fingers into his hair.
Thus, for a while, they sat in silence; the Knight's eyes searching the
Bishop's face; the Bishop, intent upon the colour of his ruby goblet.
At length Hugh d'Argent spoke.
"I have been through deep waters, Reverend Father, since last I supped with you."
The Bishop put down the goblet.
"So I supposed, my son. Now tell me what you will, neither more nor less. I will then give you what counsel I can. On the one point concerning which you must not tell me more than I may rightly know, I will question you. Have you contrived to see the woman you loved, and lost, and are now seeking to regain? Tell me not how, nor when, nor where; but have you had speech with her? Have you made clear to her the treachery which sundered you? Have you pleaded with her to remember her early betrothal, to renounce these later vows, and to fly with you?"
The Knight looked straight into the Bishop's keen eyes.
At first he could not bring himself to answer.
This princely figure, with his crimson robes and golden cross, so visibly represented the power and authority of the Church.
His own intrusion into the Nunnery, his attempt to win away a holy nun, suddenly appeared to him, as the most appalling sacrilege.