At last, urged by the prickings of her conscience, she craved license to go to Rome, for she thought that, by confessing her sin at the Pope’s feet, she might recover her virginity.  This the Prior and Prioress very readily granted her, for they were more willing that she should become a pilgrim contrary to the rules of her order, than be shut up in the convent with her present scruples.  They feared also that in her despair she might denounce the life that was led among them, and so gave her money for her journey.

But God brought it to pass that when she came to Lyons, my lady the Duchess of Alencon, afterwards Queen of Navarre, being one evening after vespers in the roodloft of the church of St. John, whither she came secretly to perform a novena with three or four of her women, (3) heard someone mounting the stairway whilst she was kneeling before the crucifix.  By the light of the lamp she saw it was a nun, and in order that she might hear her devotions, the Duchess thereupon withdrew to the corner of the altar.  The nun, who believed herself to be alone, knelt down and, beating her breast, began weeping so sorrowfully that it was piteous to hear her; and all the while she cried naught but this—­“Alas! my God, take pity on this poor sinner.”

     3 See ante, Tale LXV., note i.

The Duchess, wishing to learn what it meant, went up to her and said, “Dear heart, what ails you, and whence do you come, and what brings you to this place?”

The poor nun, who did not know her, replied, “Ah, sweet, my woe is such that I have no help but in God; and I pray that He may bring me to speak with the Duchess of Alencon.  To her alone will I tell the matter, for I am sure that, if it be possible, she will set it right.”

“Dear heart,” then said the Duchess, “you may speak to me as you would to her, for I am one of her nearest friends.”

“Forgive me,” said the nun; “she alone must know my secret.”

Then the Duchess told her that she might speak freely, since she had indeed found her whom she sought.  Forthwith the poor woman threw herself at her feet, and, after she had wept, related what you have heard concerning her hapless fortune.  The Duchess consoled her so well, that whilst she took not from her everlasting repentance for her sin, she put from her mind the journeying to Rome, and then sent her back to her priory with letters to the Bishop of the place to have that shameful monk turned away.

“I have this story from the Duchess herself, and from it you may see, ladies, that Nomerfide’s prescription is not good for all, since these persons fell into lewdness even while touching and laying out the dead.”

“’Twas a device,” said Hircan, “that methinks no man ever used before, to talk of death and engage in the deeds of life.”

“’Tis no deed of life,” said Oisille, “to sin, for it is well known that sin begets death.”

“You may be sure,” said Saffredent, “that these poor folk gave no thought to any such theology; but just as the daughters of Lot made their father drunk so that the human race might be preserved, so these persons wished to repair what death had spoiled, and to replace the dead body by a new one.  I therefore can see no harm in the matter except the tears of the poor nun, who was always weeping and always returning to the cause of her tears.”