"I do not understand, my lord."
"I'll allow the faithful to eat butter in Lent, if they will pay a few sols for the privilege. That will raise a good sum."
"Yes, but Lent is six months hence, and the men will be mutilated in twelve days."
"Besides, I want the butter money for the cathedral, which is a shabby building! What a world of woe we live in!"
"Monseigneur, can you not help me? Must seven homes be rendered desolate for lack of a hundred livres?"
"Oh, my head! it will burst! I have no money, but I will do all in my power to assist you. Ogier del' Peyra is a good man, and good men are few. Go to Levi in the Market Place. He is the only man in Sarlat who grows rich in the general impoverishment. He must help you. Tell him that I will guarantee the sum. If he will give you the money, then he shall make me pay a denier every time I light my fire and warm my old bones at it. He can see my chimney from his house, and whenever he notices smoke rise from it, let him come in and demand his denier."
"It will take a hundred years like that to clear off the principal and meet the interest."
The Bishop raised his hands and clasped them despairingly. "I have done my utmost!"
"Then I am to carry the tidings to seven wives that the Church cannot help them?"
"No—no! Try Levi with the butter-money. I did desire to have a beautiful tower to my cathedral, but seven poor homes is better than fine carving, and I will promise him the butter-money. Try him with that—if that fails, then I am helpless. My head! my head! It will never rest till laid in the grave. O sacred Napkins of Cadouin and Cahors! Take care of yourselves and be more indulgent to us miserable creatures, or I will publish a mandment recommending the Napkin of Compiègne, or that of Besançon, and then where will you be?"