Ard. Ay!
More wolfish than his father,—beast whose sword
Should be his body's part as tigers wear
Their claws from birth!
Ber. A bold delusion this!
Char. She speaks untempered rumor. Slander, sir,
Is out of breath with sporting Bertrand's name,
And giveth way to winds that blow it past
Belief's last border.
Ard. Slander?
Ber. What will shake
These fancies from your heart?
Ard. A miracle.
Naught less.
Ber. Hard terms. [Turns to Charilus]
I know this Bertrand well.
If any happy merit in myself
Has won your love, bestow the same on him.
What I may share is his.
Char. Here's living hope!
Ber. He, like myself, was cloister-bred, and passed
Peaceful, uncounted days until the death
Of his three brothers, slain in one mad hour.
Earl Oswald then bethought him of the son
So early given to Christ. "I have no heir,"
He said, "but God lacks not for monks." And straight
With power and gold bought full release for Bertrand,
Save that release his soul and God might give.
Char. You make me love his story.