"You forget the peasant festival," prompted Mr. Hopworthy.
"Festival?" said Mr. Ferris. "Ah, that was a mere episode, intended to give a sense of contrast."
"Of course," Mr. Hopworthy assented. "How frivolous beside his own austere life appeared these rustic revels. How calm, by contrast, was the quiet of the cloister——"
"Yes," Mr. Ferris took up the screed, "and, as from a distance he watched their clumsy merriment, he—he—he——"
"He determined to have just one dance for luck," assisted Mr. Hopworthy.
Perhaps the author, thus hearing the story from another, detected here some flaw of logic, for he did not proceed at once, although Miss Dunbar waited with the most encouraging interest. The momentary pause was put to flight by Mr. Hopworthy.
"Ah, Zola never did anything more daring," he declared. "Even Zola might have hesitated to make Ignatius change clothes with the intoxicated soldier, and leaping into the middle of the ballroom, shout that every glass must be filled to the brim."
"Hold on!" gasped Mr. Ferris. "There must be some mistake. I swear I never wrote anything like that in my life."
"But you have admitted it!" the other cried. "You cannot conceal it from us now. You are grand. You are sublime!"
"I deny it absolutely," returned Mr. Ferris.