“Your Grace may be well assured,” said the Friar, “that, with the grace of Saint Dunstan, I shall find the way of multiplying your most bounteous gift.”
“I nothing doubt it, good brother,” said the King; “and as venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have orders to deliver to thee a butt of sack, a runlet of Malvoisie, and three hogsheads of ale of the first strike, yearly—If that will not quench thy thirst, thou must come to court, and become acquainted with my butler.”
“But for Saint Dunstan?” said the Friar—
“A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also have,” continued the King, crossing himself—“But we may not turn our game into earnest, lest God punish us for thinking more on our follies than on his honour and worship.”
“I will answer for my patron,” said the Priest, joyously.
“Answer for thyself, Friar,” said King Richard, something sternly; but immediately stretching out his hand to the Hermit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his knee, and saluted it. “Thou dost less honour to my extended palm than to my clenched fist,” said the Monarch; “thou didst only kneel to the one, and to the other didst prostrate thyself.”
But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence by continuing the conversation in too jocose a style—a false step to be particularly guarded against by those who converse with monarchs—bowed profoundly, and fell into the rear.
At the same time, two additional personages appeared on the scene.