The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struck Cedric.

“I know no language,” he said, “but my own, and a few words of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?”

“The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba⁠—“Pax vobiscum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, pax vobiscum carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep grave tone⁠—Pax vobiscum!⁠—it is irresistible⁠—Watch and ward, knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I think, if they bring me out to be hanged tomorrow, as is much to be doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the finisher of the sentence.”