"And why--and why--and why?" laughed Pharamond, in elfish mood. "Nay, do not tell me. Cannot I read into your erring soul as through a sheet of dirty glass? Because you are hopelessly enamoured of your brother's handsome wife!" Phebus started and turned scarlet. "Don't look so exasperatingly sheepish! you quivering mass of jelly," sneered Pharamond. An explosion of laughter resounded through the wood and ceased, and the glitter shone forth again. "Do you know that it is extremely wrong to nourish a flame for one's brother's wife?" he inquired dryly. "Most reprehensible in itself and not unlikely to lead to complications. Will Clovis approve, think you?" Perceiving that Phebus was too confused and upset by the sudden attack to answer, the abbe frisked on, urging forward both horses with his whip. "See!" he observed, addressing nature generally. "How lenient Mother Church can be to the shortcomings of the weak! Do I blame this culprit for adoring the lovely Gabrielle? Not a bit! If he did not his heart would be of stone instead of pulp. Stout Phebus is consumed with hopeless adoration. But is it hopeless? Ah! There's the rub. Don't babble like an idiot, but confess. Have we openly given vent to our boiling passion? Yes, or no?" The chevalier bent his head and sobbed out, "I'm a miserable wicked wretch!" "Of course you are," affably agreed the abbe. "Make a clean breast of it to Mother Church, who will straightway absolve the sinner. Do we adore her to the ends of our fat fingers? Eh?" "How can I help adoring her?" replied harassed Phebus. "Certainly not--how could you?" echoed his tormentor. "Ho! ho! ho! ho!" The abbe's mocking laugh reverberated among the trees. "I've half a mind to tell Clovis--shall I? How he'd enjoy the jest!" And at contemplation of the maze of mischief that might result from such a proceeding, he laughed again, "Ho! ho!" "Does she return your love? Have you really made the trial?" he inquired suddenly, with a sneer upon his lips. "No? Then, my poor fellow, I am genuinely sorry for your plight. Presto! The Church has run away! Behold a doctor; hearken to words of wisdom. Your ailment's very bad, but curable. This is a queer world, I'd have you know, in which there is one unpardonable crime, failure. We hunt down and exterminate the exposed bungler, who, if he bungles, and would yet save his skin, must take precautions not to be found out. Now I found you out at once, you simple oaf, so you deserve to be delivered to Clovis. I ought to sacrifice so paltry a specimen of intrigue, but then--are you not, too, my brother?" The chevalier knitted his brows in a vain effort to comprehend what underlay the abbe's banter.