Carandas put on his best clothes, failed not to keep the appointment, appeared at the time fixed, and found a good supper prepared, lampreys, wine of Vouvray, fine white napkins—­for it was not necessary to remonstrate with the dyer’s wife on the colour of her linen—­and everything so well prepared that it was quite pleasant to him to see the dishes of fresh eels, to smell the good odour of the meats, and to admire a thousand little nameless things about the room, and La Tascherette fresh and appetising as an apple on a hot day.  Now, the mechanician, excited to excess by these warm preparations, was on the point of attacking the charms of the dyer’s wife, when Master Taschereau gave a loud knock at the street door.

“Ha!” said madame, “what has happened?  Put yourself in the clothes chest, for I have been much abused respecting you; and if my husband finds you, he may undo you; he is so violent in his temper.”

And immediately she thrust the hunchback into the chest, and went quickly to her good husband, whom she knew well would be back from Chinonceaux to supper.  Then the dyer was kissed warmly on both his eyes and on both his ears and he caught his good wife to him and bestowed upon her two hearty smacks with his lips that sounded all over the room.  Then the pair sat down to supper, talked together and finished by going to bed; and the mechanician heard all, though obliged to remain crumpled up, and not to cough or to make a single movement.  He was in with the linen, crushed up as close as a sardine in a box, and had about as much air as he would have had at the bottom of a river; but he had, to divert him, the music of love, the sighs of the dyer, and the little jokes of La Tascherette.  At last, when he fancied his old comrade was asleep, he made an attempt to get out of the chest.

“Who is there?” said the dyer.

“What is the matter my little one?” said his wife, lifting her nose above the counterpane.

“I heard a scratching,” said the good man.

“We shall have rain to-morrow; it’s the cat,” replied his wife.

The good husband put his head back upon the pillow after having been gently embraced by his spouse.  “There, my dear, you are a light sleeper.  It’s no good trying to make a proper husband of you.  There, be good.  Oh! oh! my little papa, your nightcap is on one side.  There, put it on the other way, for you must look pretty even when you are asleep.  There! are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sleep?” said she, giving him a kiss.

“Yes.”

In the morning the dyer’s wife came softly and let out the mechanician, who was whiter than a ghost.

“Give me air, give me air!” said he.

And away he ran cured of his love, but with as much hate in his heart as a pocket could hold of black wheat.  The said hunchback left Tours and went to live in the town of Bruges, where certain merchants had sent for him to arrange the machinery for making hauberks.