"Now, messire," quoth the Pardoner, opening his wallet, "now in the matter of sinning, messire, an thou hast some pet and peculiar vice— some little, pretty vanity, some secret, sweet transgression—"
"Nay, first," quoth Beltane, "'tis sure thou hast a tongue—"
"O infallibly, messire; a sweet tongue—a tongue attuned to cunning phrases. God gave to women beauty, to flowers perfume, and to me—a tongue!"
"Good Pardoner, a lonely wight am I, ignorant of the world and of its ways and doings. So for thy tongue will I barter base coin—what can'st tell me for this fair gold piece?"
"That fain would I have the spending on't, noble, generous sir."
"What more?"
"Anything ye will, messire: for since I am the want universal and gold the universal need, needs must want need! And here is a rare-turned phrase, methinks?"
"So thus do I wed need with want," nodded Beltane, tossing him the coin. "Come now, discourse to me of worldly things—how men do trim their beards these days, what sins be most i' the fashion, if Duke Ivo sleepeth a-nights, whether Pentavalon city standeth yet?"
"Aha!" cried the Pardoner (coin safely pouched), "I can tell ye tales a-plenty: sly, merry tales of lovely ladies fair and gay. I can paint ye a tongue picture of one beyond all fair ladies fair—her soft, white body panting-warm for kisses, the lure of her mouth, the languorous passion of her eyes, the glorious mantle of her flame-like hair. I'll tell of how she, full of witching, wanton wiles, love-alluring, furtive fled fleet-footed from the day and—there amid the soft and slumberous silence of the tender trees did yield her love to one beyond all beings blest. Thus, sighing and a-swoon, did Helen fair, a Duchess proud—"
"Ah!" cried Beltane, clenching sudden fist, "what base and lying babble do ye speak? Helen, forsooth—dare ye name her, O Thing?"