“I think they are white monks,” said Prosper,
“Bernardines.”
“I spoke of the colour of their deeds, young
sir,” answered Brother Bonaccord.
“I know as little of them as of any monks in
Christendom, friar,” Prosper said. “But
I have seen the Abbot and spoken with him. Richard
Dieudonne is his name, well friended by the Countess.”
“He is well friended by many ladies, some of
account, and some of none at all, by what I hear,”
said the friar, rather dryly for such a twinkling
spirit.
“Ah, with ladies,” Prosper put in, “you
have me again; for I know less of them than of monks,
save that both have petticoats. Your pardon,
brother.”
“Not a bit, not a bit, brother again,”
replied the friar. “I admit the hindrance;
and could tell you of the advantages if I had the mind.
But as to the ladies, suffer me to predict that you
will know more of them before you have done.”
“I think not,” said Prosper. Brother
Bonaccord began to laugh.
“They will give you no peace yet awhile,”
said he. “And let me tell you this, from
a man who knows what he is talking about, that if you
think to escape them by neglecting them, you are going
the devil’s way to work. If you wish them
to let you alone, speak them fair, drop easily to
your knee, be a hand-kisser, a cushion-disposer, a
goer on your toes. They will think you a lover
and shrug you away. Never do a woman a service
as if to oblige her; do it as if to oblige yourself.
Then she will believe you her slave. Then you
are safe. That is your game, brother.”
“You have studied ladies, friar?”
“Ah, ah! I have indeed. They are a
wondrous fair book. I know no other. Why
should I?”
“Oh, why indeed?” Prosper assented.
“For my part, I find other studies more engrossing.”
With such talk they went until they reached a little
wood, and then disposed of themselves for the night.
When Prosper woke next morning the good man had gone.
He had left a written message to the effect that,
petticoats or none, he had stolen a march on steel,
and might be looked for at Malbank.
“I wonder how much stuff for his mind that student
of ladies will win at Malbank,” laughed Prosper
to himself, little knowing, indeed.
MORGRAUNT, AND A DEAD KNIGHT
Leaving the high road on his right hand, Prosper struck
over the heath towards a solemn beech-wood, which
he took to be the very threshold of Morgraunt.
As a fact it was no more than an outstretched finger
of its hand, by name Cadnam Thicket. He skirted
this place, seeking an entry, but found nothing to
suit him for an hour or more. Then at last he
came to a gap in the sandy bank, and saw that a little
mossy ride ran straight in among the trees. He
put his horse at the gap, and was soon cantering happily
through the wood. Thus he came short upon an
adventure. The path ran ahead of him in a tapering
vista, but just where it should meet in a point it
broadened out suddenly so as to make a double bay.
The light fell splashing upon this cleared space,
and he saw what he saw.
