Fancy! they want to come now
and divide our Italy among them! As if we did not have enough with
the Germans."
"The French in Naples! What the deuce have we to do with them?"
The Prior now felt obliged to attend to his guest, the monk.
"Eat, little monk," he said. "He who is weak, eateth herbs, and all
flesh is grass, _ergo_...."
"I never eat meat on Friday, the day on which our Lord Jesus Christ
suffered and died!"
"Then you are wrong! But you must not speak so loud, you understand,
for if you sin, you must go in your room, and hold your mouth!
Practise obedience and silence, the first virtues of our Order."
The monk turned first red, then pale, and his cheekbones could be
seen through his thin cheeks. But he kept silence, after he had
taken a spoonful of salt in his mouth to help him to control his
tongue.
"He is a Maccabee," whispered the prelate.
"Conventual disciple is decaying," continued the Prior, jocosely;
"the young monks do not obey their superiors any more, but we must
have a reformation! Drink, monk, and give me an answer!"
"We must obey God rather than man," answered the monk. There was an
embarrassed pause, and the prelate who had to communicate in the
evening declined to drink any more. But this vexed the Prior, who
felt the implied reproof.
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