Well, serve them, but do not talk to me of the cause! The cause?
To hell with the cause! I have my cause, and you have yours, and my lord of Guise has his! And you will not make me believe that there is any other!" "The king's ?" suggested the priest, smiling sourly.
"Say rather the Italian woman's!" the Vidame answered recklessly--meaning the queen-mother, Catharine de' Medici, I supposed.
"Well, then, the cause of the Church ?" the priest persisted.
"Bah! The Church?
It is you, my friend!" Bezers rejoined, rudely tapping his companion--at that moment in the act of crossing himself--on the chest.

"The Church ?" he continued; "no, no, my friend.

I will tell you what you are doing.

You want me to help you to get rid of your branch, and you offer in return to aid me with mine--and then, say you, there will be no stick left to beat either of us.

But you may understand once for all"-- and the Vidame struck his hand heavily down among the glasses--"that I will have no interference with my work, master Clerk! None! Do you hear?
And as for yours, it is no business of mine.