Turning back towards the altar, he faced the Madonna with her choir of angel girls. Fra Balthasar was watching him with a feline sleekness of visage, and a smile that boasted something of contempt. The friar considered spirituality a species of magician's lanthorn for the cozening of fools.
"What quip have you for love?" said the younger man, halting by the altar rails.
Balthasar stood with poised brush.
"There is some sincerity in the emotion," he said.
"You are experienced?"
"Sire, consider my 'habit.'"
The friar's mock horror was surprising, an excellent jest that fell like a blunted bolt from the steel of a vigorous manhood. The Lord Flavian ran on.
"Shall I fence with an infidel?" he asked.
"Sire, a man may be a man without the creed of Athanasius."
"How much of me do you understand?"