So the three monks in their black Benedictine habits came in before Richard, who bowed very low, remembering the wise maxim: "Honor all churchmen, but look well to your money." The abbot was short and fat, the prior short but less fat, the sub-prior leaner still. Otherwise they seemed children of one mother, with their pale, flabby faces, their long gray beards, and black cowls and cassocks.
"Benedicte, fair son," began the abbot; "we trust the true love of God and Holy Church is in your heart."
"Of God and Holy Church," repeated the prior.
"Of God and Holy Church," chanted the sub-prior.
"I am a great sinner, holy father," quoth Richard, dutifully, "yet I hope for forgiveness. What may I do for you?"
Then the abbot ran off into a long, winding discourse as to how the barons of St. Julien had ever been the protectors and "advocates" of the abbey, and how of late "that man of Belial, Raoul de Valmont," had oppressed the monks in many ways. "And even now God has mysteriously deigned," continued the prelate, "that he should commit a sin, the like whereof have been few since the days of Judas called Iscariot."
"And what may this be?" asked Richard, soberly.
"When our refectarius," solemnly went on the abbot, "passed over the Valmont lands, driving three black pigs, and with twelve fair round Auvergne cheeses amongst other gifts of the pious in his cart, this man of blood cruelly possessed himself of the pigs and cheeses, saying, 'The holy brethren will find prayers rise strongest when they have pulse in their bellies'—blasphemous sinner!"
"Accursed robber!" cried the prior.
"Friend of the fiends!" echoed the sub-prior.