So far the lady had told the story as if of another, but at the end she involuntarily said—­

“Never was a woman so confounded as I was, when I found myself lying quite naked.”

At these last words the lady, who had hitherto hearkened to the story without laughing, could not refrain from doing so, and said—­

“By what I can see, you are well qualified to tell the tale.”

The poor lady tried in every possible way to clear her honour, but it was already flown so far away that she was never able to recall it.

“I assure you, ladies, that had she felt any deep displeasure in doing such a deed, she would have desired to forget it.  But, as I have told you, sin will of itself be discovered before it could otherwise be known, unless it be hidden by the mantle which, as David says, makes man blessed.”

“In good sooth,” said Ennasuite, “she was the greatest fool I have ever heard of, to make the others laugh at her own expense.”

“I do not deem it strange,” said Parlamente, “that the word should follow the deed, for it is easier to say than to do.”

“Why,” said Geburon, “what sin had she committed?  She was asleep in her bed, he threatened her with shame and death; Lucrece, who is so highly praised, did just the same.”

“That is true,” said Parlamente, “and I confess that there is none too righteous to fall.  But when one has felt great offence in the deed, the same holds good of the recollection; and whereas Lucrece to efface the latter killed herself, this foolish woman tried to make others laugh.”

“Nevertheless,” said Nomerfide, “it seems that she was a virtuous woman, seeing that she had been many times entreated but would never consent, so that the gentleman must needs resort to treachery and force in order to wrong her.”

“What!” said Parlamente.  “Do you think that a woman has answered for her honour, when she gives herself up after refusing two or three times?  There would then be many virtuous women among those that are deemed the opposite, for many of them have been known to refuse for a long while those to whom their hearts had been given, some doing this through fear for their honour, and others in order to make themselves still more ardently loved and esteemed.  No account, therefore, should be made of a woman unless she stands firm to the end.  But if a man refuse a beautiful girl, do you regard that as great virtue?”

“Truly,” said Oisille, “if a young and lusty man so refused, I should hold it worthy of high praise, but none the less difficult of belief.”

“Yet,” said Dagoucin, “I know one who refused to partake in amours that were sought after by all his comrades.”

“I pray you,” said Longarine, “take my place and tell us the tale, yet remember that you must here utter the truth.”

“I promise you,” said Dagoucin, “that I will tell it in all its simplicity, without any colouring or disguise.”