By his orders, Perrotte conducted him to Mademoiselle de Cande, the lord’s sister, to whom he went in order to learn if it was her desire to confess to him, because monks came so rarely to the castle.  The lady was delighted, as would any good Christian have been, at such a chance of clearing out her conscience.  Amador requested her to show him her conscience, and she having allowed him to see that which he considered the conscience of old maids, he found it in a bad state, and told her that the sins of women were accomplished there; that to be for the future without sin it was necessary to have the conscience corked up by a monk’s indulgence.  The poor ignorant lady having replied that she did not know where these indulgences were to be had, the monk informed her that he had a relic with him which enabled him to grant one, that nothing was more indulgent than this relic, because without saying a word it produced infinite pleasures, which is the true, eternal and primary character of an indulgence.  The poor lady was so pleased with this relic, the virtue of which she tried in various ways, that her brain became muddled, and she had so much faith in it that she indulged as devoutly in indulgences as the Lady of Cande had indulged in vengeances.  This business of confession woke up the younger Demoiselle de Cande, who came to watch the proceedings.  You may imagine that the monk had hoped for this occurrence, since his mouth had watered at the sight of this fair blossom, whom he also confessed, because the elder lady could not hinder him from bestowing upon the younger one, who wished it, what remained of the indulgences.  But, remember, this pleasure was due to him for the trouble he had taken.  The morning having dawned, the pigs having eaten their tripe, and the cats having become disenchanted with love, and having watered all the places rubbed with herbs, Amador went to rest himself in his bed, which Perrotte had put straight again.  Every one slept, thanks to the monk, so long, that no one in the castle was up before noon, which was the dinner hour.  The servants all believed the monk to be a devil who had carried off the cats, the pigs, and also their masters.  In spite of these ideas however, every one was in the room at meal time.

“Come, my father,” said the chatelaine, giving her arm to the monk, whom she put at her side in the baron’s chair, to the great astonishment of the attendants, because the Sire of Cande said not a word.  “Page, give some of this to Father Amador,” said madame.

“Father Amador has need of so and so,” said the Demoiselle de Cande.

“Fill up Father Amador’s goblet,” said the sire.

“Father Amador has no bread,” said the little lady.

“What do you require, Father Amador?” said Perrotte.

It was Father Amador here, and Father Amador there.  He was regaled like a little maiden on her wedding night.

“Eat, father,” said madame; “you made such a bad meal yesterday.”