There lived formerly in Bretagne a baron, comely in his person, wise, courteous, adored by his neighbours, much beloved by his sovereign, and married to a noble and beautiful lady, for whom he felt the warmest affection, which she appeared to return.  But she had observed, her husband was regularly absent during three days in the week; and, suspecting there must be something mysterious in this periodical disappearance, resolved, if possible, to extort the secret.  She redoubled her expressions of tenderness, bitterly lamented her frequent intervals of solitude, and, affecting to be persuaded that they were spent with a mistress, conjured him to calm her apprehensions by a disclosure of the truth.  The good baron in his turn begged her to desist from an enquiry which would only lead to their permanent separation, and the extinction of all her fondness; but her tears and blandishments prevailed, and he confessed that, during half the week, he became a Bisclaveret.  The lady, though she felt a secret horror at finding herself the wife of a wolf, pursued her enquiry;—­Were his clothes also transformed at the same time? the baron answered, that he was naked:  where, then, did he leave his dress?  To this question he endeavoured to avoid giving an answer; declaring, should that be discovered, he should be condemned to wear his brute form through life; and observing that, if she loved him, she could have no wish to learn a secret, useless to her, and in its disclosure fatal to himself.  But obstinacy is always an over-match for rational argument:  she still insisted; and the good-natured husband ultimately told that, “by the side of an old chapel, situated on the road to the thickest part of the forest, was a bush, which overhang and concealed an excavated stone, in which he constantly deposited his garments.”  The wife, now mistress of his fate, quickly sent for a gallant, whose love she had hitherto rejected; taught him the means of confirming the baron’s metamorphosis; and, when their friends had renounced all hope of his return, married her new favourite, and conveyed to him a large inheritance, the fruit of their joint treachery.  In about a year the king went to hunt in the forest, and after a chase which lasted the whole day, had nearly run down the unfortunate Bisclaveret, when the persecuted animal rushed from the thicket, and running straight up to him, seized his stirrup with his fore-paw, began to lick his feet, and with the most piteous whinings to implore his protection.  The king was, at first dreadfully frightened, but his fear gave way to pity and admiration.  He called his attendants to witness the miracle; ordered the dogs to be whipped off, solemnly took the brute under his royal protection; and returned to his palace, closely followed by his savage attendant.  Bisclaveret became an universal favourite; he was fed with the greatest care, slept in the royal apartments, and though indefatigable in attentions to his master, returned the caresses of the courtiers, who admired