mind not death.”  In fact he came with such force that his charmer fell backwards onto the bed, but keeping her presence of mind she defended herself so gallantly that the advocate enjoyed no further advantage than a knock at the door that would not admit him, and he gained as well a little stab from the poniard which did not wound him deeply, so that it did not cost him very dearly, his attack upon the realm of his sovereign.  But maddened with this slight advantage, he cried, “I cannot live without the possession of that lovely body, and those marvels of love.  Kill me then!” And again he attacked the royal preserves.  The young beauty, whose head was full of the king, was not even touched by this great love, said gravely, “If you menace me further, it is not you but myself I will kill.”  She glared at him so savagely that the poor man was quite terrified, and commenced to deplore the evil hour in which he had taken her to wife, and thus the night which should have been so joyous, was passed in tears, lamentations, prayers, and ejaculations.  In vain he tempted her with promises; she should eat out of gold, she should be a great lady, he would buy houses and lands for her.  Oh! if she would only let him break one lance with her in the sweet conflict of love, he would leave her for ever and pass the remainder of his life according to her fantasy.  But she, still unyielding, said she would permit him to die, and that was the only thing he could do to please her.

“I have not deceived you,” said she.  “Agreeable to my promise, I shall give myself to the king, making you a present of the peddler, chance passers, and street loungers with whom I threatened you.”

When the day broke she put on her wedding garments and waited patiently till the poor husband had to depart to his office client’s business, and then ran out into the town to seek the king.  But she had not gone a bow-shot from the house before one of the king’s servants who had watched the house from dawn, stopped her with the question—­

“Do you seek the king?”

“Yes,” said she.

“Good; then allow me to be your good friend,” said the subtle courtier.  “I ask your aid and protection, as now I give you mine.”

With that he told her what sort of a man the king was, which was his weak side, that he was passionate one day and silent the next, that she would luxuriously lodged and well kept, but that she must keep the king well in hand; in short, he chatted so pleasantly that the time passed quickly until she found herself in the Hotel de l’Hirundelle where afterwards lived Madame d’Estampes.  The poor husband shed scalding tears, when he found his little bird had flown, and became melancholy and pensive.  His friends and neighbours edified his ears with as many taunts and jeers as Saint Jacques had the honour of receiving in Compostella, but the poor fellow took it so to heart, that at last they tried rather to assuage his grief.