the fruit of the tree of knowledge untasted.  The lady of Beaujeu, without appearing to be astonished while listening to the promises of this young man, since royal personages ought to be accustomed to having them by dozens, kept this ambitious speech in the depths of her memory or of her registry of love, which caught fire at his words.  Then she raised the Tourainian, who still found in his misery the courage to smile at his mistress, who had the majesty of a full-blown rose, ears like shoes, and the complexion of a sick cat, but was so well-dressed, so fine in figure, so royal of foot, and so queenly in carriage, that he might still find in this affair means to gain his original object.

“Who are you?” said the Regent, putting on the stern look of her father.

“I am your very faithful subject, Jacques de Beaune, son of your steward, who has fallen into disgrace in spite of his faithful services.”

“Ah, well!” replied the lady, “lay yourself on the table again.  I hear someone coming; and it is not fit that my people should think me your accomplice in this farce and mummery.”

The good fellow perceived, by the soft sound of her voice, that he was pardoned the enormity of his love.  He lay down upon the table again, and remembered how certain lords had ridden to court in an old stirrup —­a thought which perfectly reconciled him to his present position.

“Good,” said the Regent to her maid-servants, “nothing is needed.  This gentleman is better; thanks to heaven and the Holy Virgin, there will have been no murder in my house.”

Thus saying, she passed her hand through the locks of the lover who had fallen to her from the skies, and taking a little reviving water she bathed his temples, undid his doublet, and under pretence of aiding his recovery, verified better than an expert how soft and young was the skin on this young fellow and bold promiser of bliss, and all the bystanders, men and women, were amazed to see the Regent act thus.  But humanity never misbecomes those of royal blood.  Jacques stood up, and appeared to come to his senses, thanked the Regent most humbly, and dismissed the physicians, master surgeons, and other imps in black, saying that he had thoroughly recovered.  Then he gave his name, and saluting Madame de Beaujeu, wished to depart, as though afraid of her on account of his father’s disgrace, but no doubt horrified at his terrible vow.

“I cannot permit it,” said she.  “Persons who come to my house should not meet with such treatment as you have encountered.  The Sieur de Beaune will sup here,” she added to her major domo.  “He who has so unduly insulted him will be at his mercy if he makes himself known immediately; otherwise, I will have him found out and hanged by the provost.”

Hearing this, the page who had attended the lady during her promenade stepped forward.

“Madame,” said Jacques, “at my request pray both pardon and reward him, since to him I owe the felicity of seeing you, the favour of supping in your company, and perhaps that of getting my father re-established in the office to which it pleased your glorious father to appoint him.”