“Abandon your anger, my daughter,” said the monk.  “It is commanded us by the Church to forgive those who trespass against us, if we would find favour in the side of Heaven, because you pardon those who also pardon others.  God avenges himself eternally on those who have avenged themselves, but keeps in His paradise those who have pardoned.  From that comes the jubilee, which is a day of great rejoicing, because all debts and offences are forgiven.  Thus it is a source of happiness to pardon.  Pardon!  Pardon!  To pardon is a most holy work.  Pardon Monseigneur de Cande, who will bless you for your gracious clemency, and will henceforth love you much; This forgiveness will restore to you the flower of youth; and believe, my dear sweet young lady, that forgiveness is in certain cases the best means of vengeance.  Pardon your maid-servant, who will pray heaven for you.  Thus God, supplicated by all, will have you in His keeping, and will bless you with male lineage for this pardon.”

Thus saying, the monk took the hand of the sire, placed it in that of the lady, and added—­

“Go and talk over the pardon.”

And then he whispered into the husband’s ears this sage advice—­

“My lord, use your best argument, and you will silence her with it, because a woman’s mouth it is only full of words when she is empty elsewhere.  Argue continually, and thus you will always have the upper hand of your wife.”

“By the body of the Jupiter!  There’s good in this monk after all,” said the seigneur, as he went out.

As soon as Amador found himself alone with Perrotte he spoke to her, as follows—­

“You are to blame, my dear, for having wished to torment a poor servant of God; therefore are you now the object of celestial wrath, which will fall upon you.  To whatever place you fly it will always follow you, will seize upon you in every limb, even after your death, and will cook you like a pasty in the oven of hell, where you will simmer eternally, and every day you will receive seven hundred thousand million lashes of the whip, for the one I received through you.”

“Ah! holy Father,” said the wench, casting herself at the monk’s feet, “you alone can save me, for in your gown I should be sheltered from the anger of God.”

Saying this, she raised the robe to place herself beneath it, and exclaimed—­

“By my faith! monks are better than knights.”

“By the sulphur of the devil!  You are not acquainted with the monks?”

“No,” said Perrotte.

“And you don’t know the service that monks sing without saying a word?”

“No.”

Thereupon the monk went through this said service for her, as it is sung on great feast days, with all the grand effects used in monasteries, the psalms well chanted in f major, the flaming tapers, and the choristers, and explained to her the Introit, and also the ite missa est, and departed, leaving her so sanctified that the wrath of heaven would have great difficulty in discovering any portion of the girl that was not thoroughly monasticated.