“Well, my darling are we not two?”

“No,” said he, “we are three.”

“Is your friend coming?” said she, looking towards the stairs with perfect innocence.

“No, I speak of the friend who is in the chest.”

“What chest?” said she.  “Are you in your sound senses?  Where do you see a chest?  Is the usual to put friends in chests?  Am I a woman to keep chests full of friends?  How long have friends been kept in chests?  Are you come home mad to mix up your friends with your chests?  I know no other friend then Master Cornille the draper, and no other chest than the one with our clothes in.”

“Oh!” said the jeweller, “my good woman, there is a bad young man, who has come to warn me that you allow yourself to be embraced by our advocate, and that he is in the chest.”

“I!” said she, “I would not put up with his knavery, he does everything the wrong way.”

“There, there, my dear,” replied the jeweller, “I know you to be a good woman, and won’t have a squabble with you about this paltry chest.  The giver of the warning is a box-maker, to whom I am about to sell this cursed chest that I wish never again to see in my house, and for this one he will sell me two pretty little ones, in which there will not be space enough even for a child; thus the scandal and the babble of those envious of your virtue will be extinguished for want of nourishment.”

“You give me great pleasure,” said she; “I don’t attach any value to my chest, and by chance there is nothing in it.  Our linen is at the wash.  It will be easy to have the mischievous chest taken away tomorrow morning.  Will you sup?”

“Not at all,” said he, “I shall sup with a better appetite without the chest.”

“I see,” said she, “that you won’t easily get the chest out of your head.”

“Halloa, there!” said the jeweller to his smiths and apprentices; “come down!”

In the twinkling of an eye his people were before him.  Then he, their master, having briefly ordered the handling of the said chest, this piece of furniture dedicated to love was tumbled across the room, but in passing the advocate, finding his feet in the air to the which he was not accustomed, tumbled over a little.

“Go on,” said the wife, “go on, it’s the lid shaking.”

“No, my dear, it’s the bolt.”

And without any other opposition the chest slid gently down the stairs.

“Ho there, carrier!” said the jeweller, and Chiquon came whistling his mules, and the good apprentices lifted the litigious chest into the cart.

“Hi, hi!” said the advocate.

“Master, the chest is speaking,” said an apprentice.

“In what language?” said the jeweller, giving him a good kick between two features that luckily were not made of glass.  The apprentice tumbled over on to a stair in a way that induced him to discontinue his studies in the language of chests.  The shepherd, accompanied by the good jeweller, carried all the baggage to the water-side without listening to the high eloquence of the speaking wood, and having tied several stones to it, the jeweller threw it into the Seine.