My dear mother, quoth the novice, coming a little to herself, ----there are two certain words, which I have been told will force any horse, or ass, or mule, to go up a hill whether he will or no; be he never so obstinate or ill-will'd, the moment he hears them utter'd, he obeys. They are words magic! cried the abbess in the utmost horror --No; replied _Margarita_ calmly--but they are words sinful --What are they? quoth the abbess, interrupting her: They are sinful in the first degree, answered _Margarita_, --they are mortal--and if we are ravish'd and die unabsolved of them, we shall both----but you may pronounce them to me, quoth the abbess of _Andoillets_ ----They cannot, my dear mother, said the novice, be pronounced at all; they will make all the blood in one's body fly up into one's face --But you may whisper them in my ear, quoth the abbess.
Heaven! hadst thou no guardian angel to delegate to the inn at the bottom of the hill? was there no generous and friendly spirit unemployed----no agent in nature, by some monitory shivering, creeping along the artery which led to his heart, to rouse the muleteer from his banquet? ----no sweet minstrelsy to bring back the fair idea of the abbess and _Margarita_, with their black rosaries!
Rouse! rouse! ----but 'tis too late--the horrid words are pronounced this moment----
----and how to tell them --Ye, who can speak of everything existing, with unpolluted lips, instruct me----guide me----
'My dear mother,' quoth the novice, recovering a little - 'there are two certain words, which I have been told will force any horse or mule to go up a hill whether he will or no; be he never so obstinate, the moment he hears them, he obeys.'
'They are magic words!' cried the abbess in horror.
'No,' replied Margarita calmly, 'but they are sinful in the first degree - a mortal sin - and if we are ravished and die unabsolved, we shall-'
'But you may tell them to me,' interrupted the abbess.
'They cannot, my dear mother, be spoken at all; they will make one's blood fly up into one's face.'
'But you may whisper them in my ear,' quoth the abbess.
Heaven! hadst thou no guardian angel to send to the inn at the bottom of the hill? was there no friendly spirit who could rouse the muleteer from his banquet?
Rouse him! - but 'tis too late - the horrid words are spoken-
- and how to tell them with unpolluted lips - Lord, guide me-
Book 7 - Chapter 24