Enough has been said about this entrancing book to show how vividly it brings not only the Menagier, but the Menagier’s young wife before our eyes after these many years.  In the morning she rises, much earlier than ladies rise nowadays, though not so early as nuns, who must say matins, for that, her husband tells her, is not a fitting hour for married women to leave their beds.  Then she washes, much less than ladies nowadays, hands and face only perchance, and says her orisons, and dresses very neatly, for she knows whose eye is upon her, and so goes with Dame Agnes the beguine to Mass, with eyes on the ground and hands folded over her painted primer.  After Mass, and perhaps confession, back again to see if the servants are doing their work, and have swept and dusted the hall and the rooms, beaten the cushions and coverlets on the forms and tidied everything, and afterwards to interview Master John the steward and order dinner and supper.  Then she sends Dame Agnes to see to the pet dogs and birds, “for they cannot speak and so you must speak and think for them if you have any”.  Then, if she be in her country house, she must take thought for the farm animals and Dame Agnes must superintend those who have charge of them, Robin the shepherd, Josson the oxherd, Arnoul the cowherd, Jehanneton the milkmaid, and Eudeline the farmer’s wife who looks after the poultry yard.  If she be in her town house she and her maids take out her dresses and furs from their great chests and spread them in the sun in the garden or courtyard to air, beating them with little rods, shaking them in the breeze, taking out spots and stains with one or other of the master’s tried recipes, pouncing with lynx eyes upon the moth or sprightly flea.

[Illustration:  VI.  THE MENAGIER’S WIFE COOKS HIS SUPPER, WITH THE AID OF HIS BOOK]

After this comes dinner, the serious meal of the day, eaten by our ancestors about 10 a.m.  What the Menagier’s wife gives to her lord and master will depend upon the time of year and upon whether it be a meat or a fast day; but we know that she has no lack of menus from which to choose.  After dinner she sees that the servants are set to dine, and then the busy housewife may become the lady of leisure and amuse herself.  If in the country she may ride out hawking with a gay party of neighbours; if in town, on a winter’s day, she may romp and play with other married ladies of her tender years, exchange riddles or tell stories round the fire.  But what she most loves is to wander in her garden, weaving herself garlands of flowers, violets, gilly flowers, roses, thyme, or rosemary, gathering fruit in season (she likes raspberries and cherries), and passing on to the gardeners weighty advice about the planting of pumpkins ("in April water them courteously and transplant them"), to which the gardeners give as much attention as gardeners always have given, give still, and ever shall give, world without end, to the wishes of their employers.  When she tires