The man’s eyes glistened over the salver and the cup. He bowed to his hostess, sniffed, and pursed his lips over the wine.
"Truth to you. Who have you been renovating of late? What carcase have you been painting, you useful rogue?"
"I see your work everywhere. There is the little brown-faced thing who is to marry John of Brissac. Well, she needed art severely. Now the lady has a complexion like apple-blossom."
"Madame is pleased to jest," he said, "and to think her fancies--realities. Were all ladies as fresh as Madame Duessa, what, think you, would become of my delectable art, my science of beauty? I should be a poor bankrupt old man, ruined by too much comeliness."
Aurelius always had the wit to say the pleasantest thing possible, and to press the uttermost drop of honey from the comb of flattery. A surly tongue will break a man, a glib intelligence ensure him a fortune. Aurelius earned many a fee by a pretty speech, or a tactful suggestion. Then of course he was never hindered by sincerity.
"Holy Dominic," laughed the lady, "I have proved a good patron to you in many ways."
"And I trust I shall always deserve madame’s trust."
"A discreet tongue and a comfortable obedience are sweet things to a woman, Aurelius."
"Ah, the Greeks were poets; they knew how to fit their religion to their pleasures. ’Tis only we, poor fools, who measure sin by a priest’s pardon. Give me a torch before an aspergill."
The man of physic sipped his wine, cogitating over it with Jovian wisdom.
"The chief aim in life, madame," he said, "should be the perfecting of one’s own comfort. ’Tis my contention that a fat bishop is a finer Christian than a lean friar. The truism is obvious. Is not my soul the more mellifluous and benign if its shell is gilded and its vest of velvet?"
"Give me a warm bed," she laughed, "and I will pity creation. The world’s saints are plump and comely; the true goddess has a supple knee. Am I the worse for being buxom!"
"Madame," said the sage with great unction, "only beggars denounce gold, and heaven is the dream of diseased souls. The cult of pleasure is the seal of health. Discontent is the seed of religion."
The door opened a few inches, and there was the sound of voices in muffled debate in the gallery. The Lady Duessa listened, rose from her chair, appeared restless. The man of physic comprehended the situation, and with that tact that characterised him, declared that he had patronage elsewhere to assuage. The lady did not detain him, but dismissed him with a smile--a smile that on such a face as hers often took the place of words. So Master Aurelius took his departure.