"Bishop, you have an easygoing way of talking about such matters. More than once did Clovis and the Frankish Kings, my ancestors, dispatch their best warriors to the conquest of that pestilential country, and our troops were every time cut to pieces in the marshes, the defiles and the forests of Armorica. No, those indomitable Bretons are not human--they are demons! Oh, if all the other regions of Gaul had been peopled with that infernal race, ever rebellious to the Catholic church, we would still be struggling to maintain our power. But, old mountebank, you seem greatly affected; I noticed a tear roll down your grey beard; why so?" "If only one tear did run down my grey beard, it is because old men's eyes are stingy of tears." "And why would you have shed more?" "Oh, King, I would have wept all the tears in my head over those unhappy Bretons whose detestable druid idolatry condemns them to the everlasting flames, as our holy bishop used to say: unhappy blind men who shut their eyes to the divine light of the faith! unhappy rebels, who dare turn their arms against our good seigneurs and masters, the Frankish Kings, whom our blessed bishops order us to obey in the name of the Church! Oh, Prince, I repeat it to you, but for that the eyes of an old man are stingy of tears, mine would flow in torrents at the thought of the damnable error of those unhappy heretics!" "Mountebank, you are a pious man," said Cautin; "kneel down and kiss my hand." "Holy bishop, blessed be the favor you grant me." "Rise, my son, and preserve your faith in our Church; have also confidence in the future; the accursed idolaters and rebellious Bretons will not much longer escape the just punishment that is in store for them." "Oh, no! As true as scissors have never touched my hair, I, Chram, son of Clotaire, King of France, I shall never rest so long as those Armorican demons are not crushed and drowned in their own blood. Too long have they resisted our arms. We shall soon make short work of them." "May the Almighty hear your vow, great Prince, and may He grant me, a poor old man, enough days to witness the submission of that Brittany that has so long remained stiffnecked and indomitable." "Now, mountebank, let us return to your bear; we had almost forgotten all about him, the wild fellow who was born in one of the lairs of the accursed Vagres."