"Ho!" roared the Baron, in anger, "would you have me live as a blind cow! What is life without hawks or hounds or tourneys or war! God willing, I shall die soon. Hell were nothing worse than this. I do not fear it!"
"Christ forbid you should speak sincerely!" protested Richard, crossing himself.
"No; it is true," raged the old man; "there is good company down below. Do not say Bernard the Devil is not there, these seven years, and he was my good friend. I am as bad as he. Fire can't hurt a man, if he can only see. What have I to do with your saints and prayers and priests' prattle! Heaven for them; and for men who love good sword-play and a merry lass—"
But Richard cut him short.
"Don't blaspheme! How know you that this is not a reward for all your sins?"
"Raoul used by the saints to reward me? Ha, ha—" and the Baron this time bellowed a wild laugh in earnest.
"Grandfather," said Richard, very gently, "you are in no mood for further talk. I will leave you, and come again."
"Come, and say that Raoul has gone to the imps!" raged the Baron; then, as Richard's steps sounded departing, "and if you take John of the Iron Arm, Raoul's chief under-devil, alive, give him a bath in boiling lard to remind him of what awaits him yonder!"
Barely had Richard reached the great hall when Bertrand was at him again:—
"Their reverences, the abbot of Our Lady of St. Julien, the prior, and the sub-prior, come to see your lordship."