sergeants to interfere with her in any way whatever.  Seeing she was so beautiful, Nicole Beaupertuys, the king’s mistress, gave her a hundred gold crowns to go to Orleans, in order to see if the colour of the Loire was the same there as at Portillon.  She went there, and the more willingly because she did not care very much for the king.  When the good man came who confessed the king in his last hours, and was afterwards canonised, La Portillone went to him to polish up her conscience, did penance, and founded a bed in the leper-house of St. Lazare-aux-Tours.  Many ladies whom you know have been assaulted by more than two lords, and have founded no other beds than those in their own houses.  It is as well to relate this fact, in order to cleanse the reputation of this honest girl, who herself once washed dirty things, and who afterwards became famous for her clever tricks and her wit.  She gave a proof of her merit in marrying Taschereau, who she cuckolded right merrily, as has been related in the story of The Reproach.  This proves to us most satisfactorily that with strength and patience justice itself can be violated.

     IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT FORTUNE IS ALWAYS FEMININE

During the time when knights courteously offered to each other both help and assistance in seeking their fortune, it happened that in Sicily—­which, as you are probably aware, is an island situated in the corner of the Mediterranean Sea, and formerly celebrated—­one knight met in a wood another knight, who had the appearance of a Frenchman.  Presumably, this Frenchman was by some chance stripped of everything, and was so wretchedly attired that but for his princely air he might have been taken for a blackguard.  It was possible that his horse had died of hunger or fatigue, on disembarking from the foreign shore for which he came, on the faith of the good luck which happened to the French in Sicily, which was true in every respect.

The Sicilian knight, whose name was Pezare, was a Venetian long absent from the Venetian Republic, and with no desire to return there, since he had obtained a footing in the Court of the King of Sicily.  Being short of funds in Venice, because he was a younger son, he had no fancy for commerce, and was for that reason eventually abandoned by his family, a most illustrious one.  He therefore remained at this Court, where he was much liked by the king.

This gentleman was riding a splendid Spanish horse, and thinking to himself how lonely he was in this strange court, without trusty friends, and how in such cases fortune was harsh to helpless people and became a traitress, when he met the poor French knight, who appeared far worse off that he, who had good weapons, a fine horse, and a mansion where servants were then preparing a sumptuous supper.

“You must have come a long way to have so much dust on your feet,” said the Venetian.

“My feet have not as much dust as the road was long,” answered the Frenchman.