exhausted a quarter of her ire.  From this a hundred knives were drawn between them, but they kept the sheaths.  Meanwhile the spouses in bed were arranging to themselves how to get away, in order to please each other.  Then the innocent began to say he fell quite giddy, he knew not from what, and wanted to go into the open air.  And his maiden wife told him to take a stroll in the moonlight.  And then the good fellow began to pity his wife in being left alone a moment.  At her desire, both of them at different times left their conjugal couch and came to their preceptors, both very impatient, as you can well believe; and good instruction was given to them.  How?  I cannot say, because everyone has his own method and practice, and of all sciences this is the most variable in principle.  You may be sure that never did scholars receive more gayly the precepts of any language, grammar, or lessons whatsoever.  And the two spouses returned to their nest, delighted at being able to communicate to each other the discoveries of their scientific peregrinations.

“Ah, my dear,” said the bride, “you already know more than my master.”

From these curious tests came their domestic joy and perfect fidelity; because immediately after their entry into the married state they found out how much better each of them was adapted for love than anyone else, their masters included.  Thus for the remainder of their days they kept to the legitimate substance of their own persons; and the lord of Montcontour said in old age to his friends—­

“Do like me, be cuckolds in the blade, and not in the sheath.”

Which is the true morality of the conjugal condition.

THE DEAR NIGHT OF LOVE

In that winter when commenced that first taking up of arms by those of the religion, which was called the Riot of Amboise, an advocate, named Avenelles, lent his house, situated in the Rue des Marmousets for the interviews and conventions of the Huguenots, being one of them, without knowing, however, that the Prince of Conde, La Regnaudie, and others, intended to carry off the king.

The said Avenelles wore a nasty red beard, as shiny as a stick of liquorice, and was devilishly pale, as are all the rogues who take refuge in the darkness of the law; in short, the most evil-minded advocate that has ever lived, laughing at the gallows, selling everybody, and a true Judas.  According to certain authors of a great experience in subtle rogues he was in this affair, half knave, half fool, as it is abundantly proved by this narrative.  This procureur had married a very lovely lady of Paris, of whom he was jealous enough to kill her for a pleat in the sheets, for which she could not account, which would have been wrong, because honest creases are often met with.  But she folded her clothes very well, so there’s the end of the matter.  Be assured that, knowing the murderous and evil nature of this man, his wife was faithful enough to him, always ready,