"Everything can be pardoned before coarseness," he said; "give me a dirty heart before a dirty face, provided the sinner be pretty. I trust that madame was satisfied with my endeavours, that the perfumes were such as she desired, the oil of Arabia pleasant and fragrant?" "Magical, my Æsculap. The oil makes the skin like velvet, and the drugs are paradisic and full of languors. Ah, woman, set the tray beside Master Aurelius’ chair." The man’s eyes glistened over the salver and the cup. He bowed to his hostess, sniffed, and pursed his lips over the wine. "Madame knows how to warm the heart." "Truth to you. Who have you been renovating of late? What carcase have you been painting, you useful rogue?" "Madame, my profession is discreet." "I see your work everywhere. There is the little brown-faced thing who is to marry John of Brissac. Well, she needed art severely. Now the lady has a complexion like apple-blossom." The old man’s eyes twinkled. "Madame is pleased to jest," he said, "and to think her fancies--realities. Were all ladies as fresh as Madame Duessa, what, think you, would become of my delectable art, my science of beauty? I should be a poor bankrupt old man, ruined by too much comeliness." Aurelius always had the wit to say the pleasantest thing possible, and to press the uttermost drop of honey from the comb of flattery. A surly tongue will break a man, a glib intelligence ensure him a fortune. Aurelius earned many a fee by a pretty speech, or a tactful suggestion. Then of course he was never hindered by sincerity. "Holy Dominic," laughed the lady, "I have proved a good patron to you in many ways." "And I trust I shall always deserve madame’s trust." "A discreet tongue and a comfortable obedience are sweet things to a woman, Aurelius." "Madame’s voice recalls Delphi." "Ah, the Greeks were poets; they knew how to fit their religion to their pleasures. ’Tis only we, poor fools, who measure sin by a priest’s pardon. Give me a torch before an aspergill." The man of physic sipped his wine, cogitating over it with Jovian wisdom. "The chief aim in life, madame," he said, "should be the perfecting of one’s own comfort. ’Tis my contention that a fat bishop is a finer Christian than a lean friar. The truism is obvious. Is not my soul the more mellifluous and benign if its shell is gilded and its vest of velvet?" Duessa chuckled, and flipped her chin. "Give me a warm bed," she laughed, "and I will pity creation. The world’s saints are plump and comely; the true goddess has a supple knee. Am I the worse for being buxom!" "Madame," said the sage with great unction, "only beggars denounce gold, and heaven is the dream of diseased souls. The cult of pleasure is the seal of health. Discontent is the seed of religion."