“My dear,” said the bewildered lord, “don’t shout so.”

“But,” replied the lady, “I will shout, and shout to make myself heard, heard by the archbishop, heard by the legate, by the king, by my brothers, who will avenge this infamy for me.”

“Do not dishonour your husband!”

“This is dishonour then?  You are right; but, my lord, it is not brought about by you, but by this hussy, whom I will have sewn up in a sack, and thrown into the Indre; thus your dishonour will be washed away.  Hi! there,” she called out.

“Silence, madame!” said the sire, as shamefaced as a blind man’s dog; because this great warrior, so ready to kill others, was like a child in the hands of his wife, a state of affairs to which soldiers are accustomed, because in them lies the strength and is found all the dull carnality of matter; while, on the contrary, in woman is a subtle spirit and a scintillation of perfumed flame that lights up paradise and dazzles the male.  This is the reason that certain women govern their husbands, because mind is the master of matter.

(At this the ladies began to laugh, as did also the king).

“I will not be silent,” said the lady of Cande (said the abbot, continuing his tale); “I have been too grossly outraged.  This, then, is the reward of the wealth that I brought you, and of my virtuous conduct!  Did I ever refuse to obey you even during Lent, and on fast days?  Am I so cold as to freeze the sun?  Do you think that I embrace by force, from duty, or pure kindness of heart!  Am I too hallowed for you to touch?  Am I a holy shrine?  Was there need of a papal brief to kiss me?  God’s truth! have you had so much of me that you are tired?  Am I not to your taste?  Do charming wenches know more than ladies?  Ha! perhaps it is so, since she has let you work in the field without sowing.  Teach me the business; I will practice it with those whom I take into my service, for it is settled that I am free.  That is as we should be.  Your society was wearisome, and the little pleasure I derived from it cost me too dear.  Thank God!  I am quit of you and your whims, because I intend to retire to a monastery.” . . .  She meant to say a convent, but this avenging monk had perverted her tongue.

“And I shall be more comfortable in this monastery with my daughter, than in this place of abominable wickedness.  You can inherit from your wench.  Ha, ha!  The fine lady of Cande!  Look at her!”

“What is the matter?” said Amador, appearing suddenly upon the scene.

“The matter is, my father,” replied she, “that my wrongs cry aloud for vengeance.  To begin with, I shall have this trollop thrown into the river, sewn up in a sack, for having diverted the seed of the House of Cande from its proper channel.  It will be saving the hangman a job.  For the rest I will—­”