Meanwhile the prelate had had so much to attend to, that he had forgotten all about his garment.  This is how it came about.  He made the acquaintance of a noble of the court, who, having lost his wife—­a she-fiend and sterile—­said to the good priest, that he had a great ambition to meet with a virtuous woman, confiding in God, with whom he was not likely to quarrel, and was likely to have pretty children.  Such a one he desired to hold by the hand, and have confidence in.  Then the holy man drew such a picture of Mademoiselle de Poissy, that this fair one soon became Madame de Genoilhac.  The wedding was celebrated at the archiepiscopal palace, where was a feast of the first quality and a table bordered with ladies of the highest lineage, and the fashionable world of the court, among whom the bride appeared the most beautiful, since it has certain that she was a virgin, the archbishop guaranteeing her virtue.

When the fruit, conserves, and pastry were with many ornaments arranged on the cloth, Saintot said to the archbishop, “Monseigneur, your well-beloved daughters of Poissy send you a fine dish for the centre.”

“Put it there,” said the good man, gazing with admiration at an edifice of velvet and satin, embroidered with fine ribbon, in the shape of an ancient vase, the lid of which exhaled a thousand superfine odours.

Immediately the bride, uncovering it, found therein sweetmeats, cakes, and those delicious confections to which the ladies are so partial.  But of one of them—­some curious devotee—­seeing a little piece of silk, pulled it towards her, and exposed to view the habitation of the human compass, to the great confusion of the prelate, for laughter rang round the table like a discharge of artillery.

“Well have they made the centre dish,” said the bridegroom.  “These young ladies are of good understanding.  Therein are all the sweets of matrimony.”

Can there be any better moral than that deduced by Monsieur de Genoilhac?  Then no other is needed.

HOW THE CHATEAU D’AZAY CAME TO BE BUILT

Jehan, son of Simon Fourniez, called Simonnin, a citizen of Tours —­originally of the village of Moulinot, near to Beaune, whence, in imitation of certain persons, he took the name when he became steward to Louis the Eleventh—­had to fly one day into Languedoc with his wife, having fallen into great disgrace, and left his son Jacques penniless in Touraine.  This youth, who possessed nothing in the world except his good looks, his sword, and spurs, but whom worn-out old men would have considered very well off, had in his head a firm intention to save his father, and make his fortune at the court, then holden in Touraine.  At early dawn this good Tourainian left his lodging, and, enveloped in his mantle, all except his nose, which he left open to the air, and his stomach empty, walked about the town without any trouble of digestion.