Antoninus: Which ... (a little peal of girlish laughter off). Which cherry tree did you speak of?
Satan: This one over the window.
Antoninus (with an effort): It shall be held accursed. I will warn the brethren. It shall be cut down and hewn asunder and they shall burn it utterly.
Satan (rather sorrowfully): Ah, Antoninus.
Antoninus: You shall not tempt a monk of our blessed order.
Satan: They are coming this way, Antoninus.
Antoninus: What! What!
Satan: Have your scourge ready, Antoninus.
Antoninus: Perhaps, perhaps they have not merited extreme chastisement.
Satan: They have made a garland of may, a long white garland drooped from their little hands. Ah, if you were young, Antoninus.