At other times the knight is obliged to interfere, and then the tone is very different. He does not have to scream; a word from him is enough, and the storms are calmed. Moreover, the host himself becomes more gentle at times; this innkeeper knows whom he has to deal with; with all his roughness, he has a rude notion of differences and distances. His language is the language of an innkeeper; Chaucer never commits the fault of making him step out of his role; but the poet is too keen an observer not to discern _nuances_ even in the temper of a jovial host. One should see with what politeness and what salutations and what embarrassed compliments he informs the abbess that her turn has come to relate a story: "My lady Prioresse, by your leve, So that I wist I sholde yow nat greve, I wolde demen that ye telle sholde A tale next, if so were that ye wolde. Now wol ye vouche-sauf, my lady dere?" --"Gladly," quod she, and seyde as ye shal here. The answer is not less suitable than the request. Thus, in these little scenes, we see, put into action, the descriptions of the prologue; the portraits step out of their frames and come down into the street; their limbs have become immediately supple and active; the blood courses through their veins; life fills them to the end of their fingers. No sooner are they on their feet than they turn somersaults or make courtesies; and by their words they charm, enliven, edify, or scandalise. Their personality is so accentuated that it makes them unmanageable at times; their temper rules them; they are not masters of their speech. The friar wants to tell a story, but he is so blinded by anger that he does not know where he is going; he stammers, he chokes, and his narrative remains shapeless; the pardoner is so closely bound to his profession that he cannot for a moment move out of it; shirt and skin make one, to use a familiar phrase of Montaigne's; his tale resembles a sermon, and he concludes as though he were in church: Now, goode men, God forgeve yow your trespas ... I have relikes and pardon in my male As faire as any man in Engelond ... It is an honour to everich that is heer, That ye mowe have a suffisant pardoneer Tassoille yow, in contree as ye ryde, For aventures which that may bityde. Peraventure ther may falle oon or two Doun of his hors, and breke his nekke atwo. Look what a seuretee is it to yow alle That I am in your felaweship y-falle, That may assoille yow, bothe more and lasse, Whan that the soule shal fro the body passe. I rede that our hoste heer shal biginne, For he is most envoluped in sinne. Com forth sir hoste, and offre first anon, And thou shalt kisse the reliks everichon, Ye, for a grote! unbokel anon thy purs![534] A most happy idea! Mine host makes a reply which cannot be repeated.