"He is quite welcome to it," thought the father, well aware that there was absolutely nothing at all.
"Do not imagine, your Reverence," continued the robber, "that we cannot extort a confession, if it should occur to your Reverence to conceal anything. It would be just as well, therefore, if your Reverence were to reveal everything before we cut up your back with sharp thongs."
The brother smiled as good-humouredly as if he were listening to some pleasing anecdote.
"Have you any other desires, my sons?"
"Yes, a good many. There is a great crowd of women collected together in your Reverence's courtyard. We have taken no vows of celibacy, therefore we should like to choose from among them what would suit us."
Magyari felt the hairs of his head rising heavenwards, a cold shiver ran through him from head to foot, and he would have risen from his place had not the monk pressed him down with a frightfully heavy hand.
"For God's sake, my dear son, do not so wickedly. Take away the saints from the altar if you like, but harm not the innocent who are now peacefully slumbering in the shadow of God's protection."
"Not another word, Brother Gregory," cried the robber, closing his fist on his dagger, "or I'll set the monastery on fire and burn every living soul in it, yourself included. A robber only recognises four sacraments: wine, money, wenches, and blood! You may congratulate yourself if we are content with the third and dispense with the last."
"So it is!" observed another of the cowled and bearded robbers, tapping Magyari on the shoulder. "Do you recognise me, eh, your Reverence?"
Magyari, with a sensation of shuddering loathing, recognised Szénasi, a canting charlatan whose frauds he had often exposed.