Also I greatly love the smell of burning wood.

It is pungent to the nostrils, and refreshing to the brain." The monks hastened to kindle the wood and to fan it into a flame.
Presently, the fire blazing brightly, the Bishop rose, and signed to the monks to place the chairs near the great fireplace.

This they did; and, making profound obeisance, withdrew.
Thus the Bishop and the Knight, alone once more, were seated in the firelight.

As it illumined the white and silver doublet, and glowed in the rubies, the Bishop conceived the whimsical fancy that the Knight might well be some splendid archangel, come down to force the Convent gates and carry off a nun to heaven.

And the Knight, watching the leaping flame flicker on the Bishop's crimson robes and silvery hair, saw the lenient smile upon the saintly face and took courage as he realised how kindly was the heart, filled with most human sympathy, which beat beneath the cross of gold upon the Prelate's breast.
Leaning forward, the Bishop lifted the faggot-fork and moved one of the burning logs so that a jet of blue smoke, instead of mounting the chimney, came out toward them on the hearth.
Symon of Worcester sat back and inhaled it with enjoyment.
"This is refreshing," he said.