Her husband looked upon her in silence for awhile, and when he spoke it was to blame her very sternly.

“Wife,” he said, “be silent.  It is better to be dumb, than to utter such words as these.  As you know well, there is not a breath to tarnish this lady’s good name.”

The folk of the house, who listened to these words, stored them in their hearts, and told abroad the tale, spoken by their lady.  Very soon it was known throughout Brittany.  Greatly was the lady blamed for her evil tongue, and not a woman who heard thereof—­whether she were rich or poor—­but who scorned her for her malice.  The servant who carried the message, on his return repeated to his lord of what he had seen and heard.  Passing heavy was the knight, and knew not what to do.  He doubted his own true wife, and suspected her the more sorely, because she had done naught that was in any way amiss.

The lady, who so foully slandered her fellow, fell with child in the same year.  Her neighbour was avenged upon her, for when her term was come, she became the mother of two daughters.  Sick at heart was she.  She was right sorrowful, and lamented her evil case.

“Alas,” she said, “what shall I do, for I am dishonoured for all my days.  Shamed I am, it is the simple truth.  When my lord and his kinsfolk shall hear of what has chanced, they will never believe me a stainless wife.  They will remember how I judged all women in my plight.  They will recall how I said before my house, that my neighbour could not have been doubly a mother, unless she had first been doubly a wife.  I have the best reason now to know that I was wrong, and I am caught in my own snare.  She who digs a pit for another, cannot tell that she may not fall into the hole herself.  If you wish to speak loudly concerning your neighbour, it is best to say nothing of him but in praise.  The only way to keep me from shame, is that one of my children should die.  It is a great sin; but I would rather trust to the mercy of God, than suffer scorn and reproach for the rest of my life.”

The women about her comforted her as best they might in this trouble.  They told her frankly that they would not suffer such wrong to be done, since the slaying of a child was not reckoned a jest.  The lady had a maiden near her person, whom she had long held and nourished.  The damsel was a freeman’s daughter, and was greatly loved and cherished of her mistress.  When she saw the lady’s tears, and heard the bitterness of her complaint, anguish went to her heart, like a knife.  She stooped over her lady, striving to bring her comfort.

“Lady,” she said, “take it not so to heart.  Give over this grief, for all will yet be well.  You shall deliver me one of these children, and I will put her so far from you, that you shall never see her again, nor know shame because of her.  I will carry her safe and sound to the door of a church.  There I will lay her down.  Some honest man shall find her, and—­please God—­will be at the cost of her nourishing.”