At this was quite contented my said Sieur de Braguelongne, upon whom my lady of Amboise, excited by the thought of the good things which were happening to her daughter, cast the glances of a falcon in matters of gallant assignation.  The poor Lieutenant civil, learned in bailiffs’ men and sergeants, and who nabbed all the pickpockets and scamps of Paris, pretended not to see his good fortune, although his good lady required him to do.  You may be sure this great lady’s love weighed heavily upon him, so he only kept to her from a spirit of justice, because it was not seeming in a lieutenant judiciary to change his mistresses as often as a man at court, because he had under his charge morals, the police and religion.  This not withstanding his rebellion must come to an end.  On the day after the wedding a great number of the guests departed; then Madame d’Amboise and Monsieur de Braguelongne could go to bed, their guests having decamped.  Sitting down to supper, the lieutenant received a half-verbal summons to which it was not becoming, as in legal matters, to oppose any reasons for delay.

During supper the said lady d’Amboise made more than a hundred little signs in order to draw the good Braguelongne from the room where he was with the bride, but out came instead of the lieutenant the husband, to walk about in company with the mother of his sweet wife.  Now, in the mind of this innocent there had sprung up like a mushroom an expedient—­namely, to interrogate this good lady, whom he considered discreet, for remembering the religious precepts of his abbot, who had told him to inquire concerning all things of old people expert in the ways of life, he thought of confiding his case to the said lady d’Amboise.  But he made first awkwardly and shyly certain twists and turns, finding no terms in which to unfold his case.  And the lady was also perfectly silent, since she was outrageously struck with the blindness, deafness and voluntary paralysis of the lord of Braguelongne; and said to herself, walking by the side of this delicate morsel, a young innocent of whom she did not think, little imagining that this cat so well provided with young bacon could think of old—­

“This Ho, Ho, with a beard of flies’ legs, a flimsy, old, grey, ruined, shaggy beard—­beard without comprehension, beard without shame, without any feminine respect—­beard which pretends neither to feel nor to hear, nor to see, a pared away beard, a beaten down, disordered, gutted beard.  May the Italian sickness deliver me from this vile joker with a squashed nose, fiery nose, frozen nose, nose without religion, nose dry as a lute table, pale nose, nose without a soul, nose which is nothing but a shadow; nose which sees not, nose wrinkled like the leaf of a vine; nose that I hate, old nose, nose full of mud—­dead nose.  Where had my eyes been to attach myself to truffle nose, to this old hulk that no longer knows his way?  I give my share to the devil of this juiceless beard, of this grey beard, of this monkey face, of these old tatters, of this old rag of a man, of this—­I know not what; and I’ll take a young husband who’ll marry me properly, and . . . and often—­every day—­and well—­”