“Avenge me quickly, then, my father,” said she, “that I may begin to cry out.”

Thereupon the monk avenged her most monastically with a good and ample vengeance, that she indulged in as a drunkard who puts his lips to the bunghole of a barrel; for when a lady avenges herself, she should get drunk with vengeance, or not taste it at all.  And the chatelaine was revenged to that degree that she could not move; since nothing agitates, takes away the breath, and exhausts, like anger and vengeance.  But although she were avenged, and doubly and trebly avenged, yet would she not forgive, in order that she might reserve the right of avenging herself with the monk, now here, now there.  Perceiving this love for vengeance, Amador promised to aid her in it as long as her ire lasted, for he informed her that he knew in his quality of a monk, constrained to meditate long on the nature of things, an infinite number of modes, methods, and manners of practicing revenge.

Then he pointed out to her canonically what a Christian thing it is to revenge oneself, because all through the Holy Scriptures God declares Himself, above all things, to be a God of vengeance; and moreover, demonstrates to us, by his establishment in the infernal regions, how royally divine a thing vengeance is, since His vengeance is eternal.  From which it followed, that women with monks ought to revenge themselves, under pain of not being Christians and faithful servants of celestial doctrines.

This dogma pleased the lady much, and she confessed that she had never understood the commandments of the Church, and invited her well-beloved monk to enlighten her thoroughly concerning them.  Then the chatelaine, whose vital spirits had been excited by the vengeance which had refreshed them, went into the room where the jade was amusing herself, and by chance found her with her hand where she, the chatelaine, often had her eye—­like the merchants have on their most precious articles, in order to see that they were not stolen.  They were—­according to President Lizet, when he was in a merry mood—­a couple taken in flagrant delectation, and looked dumbfounded, sheepish and foolish.  The sight that met her eyes displeased the lady beyond the power of words to express, as it appeared by her discourse, of which to roughness was similar to that of the water of a big pond when the sluice-gates were opened.  It was a sermon in three heads, accompanied with music of a high gamut, varied in tones, with many sharps among the keys.

“Out upon virtue! my lord; I’ve had my share of it.  You have shown me that religion in conjugal faith is an abuse; this is then the reason that I have no son.  How many children have you consigned to this common oven, this poor-box, this bottomless alms-purse, this leper’s porringer, the true cemetery of the House of Cande?  I will know if I am childless from a constitutional defect, or through your fault.  I will have handsome cavaliers, in order that I may have an heir.  You can get the bastards, I the legitimate children.”