back to his house in the morning by the time Taschereau came to invite him to spend the day at La Grenadiere, and the cuckold always found the priest asleep in his bed.  The boatman being well paid, no one knew anything of these goings on, for the lover journeyed the night before after night fall, and on the Sunday in the early morning.  As soon as Carandas had verified the arrangement and constant practice of these gallant diversions, he determined to wait for a day when the lovers would meet, hungry one for the other, after some accidental abstinence.  This meeting took place very soon, and the curious hunchback saw the boatman waiting below the square, at the Canal St. Antoine, for the young priest, who was handsome, blonde, slender, and well-shaped, like the gallant and cowardly hero of love, so celebrated by Monsieur Ariosto.  Then the mechanician went to find the old dyer, who always loved his wife and always believed himself the only man who had a finger in her pie.

“Ah! good evening, old friend,” said Carandas to Taschereau; and Taschereau made him a bow.

Then the mechanician relates to him all the secret festivals of love, vomits words of peculiar import, and pricks the dyer on all sides.

At length, seeing he was ready to kill both his wife and the priest, Carandas said to him, “My good neighbour, I had brought back from Flanders a poisoned sword, which will instantly kill anyone, if it only make a scratch upon him.  Now, directly you shall have merely touched your wench and her paramour, they will die.”

“Let us go and fetch it,” said the dyer.

Then the two merchants went in great haste to the house of the hunchback, to get the sword and rush off to the country.

“But shall we find them in flagrante delicto?” asked Taschereau.

“You will see,” said the hunchback, jeering his friend.  In fact, the cuckold had not long to wait to behold the joy of the two lovers.

The sweet wench and her well-beloved were busy trying to catch, in a certain lake that you probably know, that little bird that sometimes makes his nest there, and they were laughing and trying, and still laughing.

“Ah, my darling!” said she, clasping him, as though she wished to make an outline of him on her chest, “I love thee so much I should like to eat thee!  Nay, more than that, to have you in my skin, so that you might never quit me.”

“I should like it too,” replied the priest, “but as you can’t have me altogether, you must try a little bit at a time.”

It was at this moment that the husband entered, he sword unsheathed and flourished above him.  The beautiful Tascherette, who knew her lord’s face well, saw what would be the fate of her well-beloved the priest.  But suddenly she sprang towards the good man, half naked, her hair streaming over her, beautiful with shame, but more beautiful with love, and cried to him, “Stay, unhappy man!  Wouldst thou kill the father of thy children?”