"'Ah,' cried Beville, 'here is the Captain! Come, George, give us a text. Father Lubin has promised to preach on any one we propose.' "'Yes,' said the monk; 'but make haste. _Mort de ma vie!_ I ought to be in the pulpit already.' "'Peste! Father Lubin, you swear like the king,' cried the Captain. "I bet he would not swear in his sermon,' said Beville. "'Why not, if the fancy took me?' stoutly retorted the Franciscan. "'Ten pistoles you do not.' "'Ten pistoles? Done.' "'Beville,' cried the Captain, 'I go halves in your wager.' "'No, no!' replied his friend, 'I will not share the reverend's money; and if he wins, by my faith! I shall not regret mine. An oath in pulpit is well worth ten pistoles.' "'They are already won,' said Father Lubin; 'I begin my sermon with three oaths. _Ah! Messieurs les Gentilhommes_, because you have rapier on hip, and plume in hat, you would monopolise the talent of swearing. We will see.' "He left the sacristy, and in an instant was in his pulpit. There was silence in the church. The preacher scanned the crowded congregation as though seeking his bettor; and when he discovered him leaning against a column exactly opposite the pulpit, he knit his brows, put his arms akimbo, and in an angry tone thus began: "'My dear Brethren, "_'Par la vertu!--par la mort!--par le sang!'_-- "A murmur of surprise and indignation interrupted the preacher, or, it were more correctly said, filled up the pause he intentionally left. "---- 'de Dieu,' continued the Franciscan, in a devout nasal whine, 'we are saved and delivered from punishment.' "'A general burst of laughter interrupted him a second time. Beville took his purse from his girdle, and shook it at the preacher, as an admission that he had lost."