“Then, since I am a married man I am to blame?” said the duke.

“Ah! my dear master, you are a prince, and can do as you please.”

These brave speeches made, as you can imagine, the heart of the lady prisoner hot and cold.

“Ah! my Raoul,” thought she, “thou art a noble man!”

“You are,” said the duke, “a man whom I love, and consider more faithful and praiseworthy than any of my people.  The others,” said he, looking at the three lords, “are wicked men.  But, Raoul,” he continued, “sit thee down.  When the linnets come—­they are linnets of high degree—­you can make your way home.  S’death!  I had treated thee as a virtuous man, ignorant of the extra-conjugal joys of love, and had carefully put for thee in that room the queen of raptures—­a fair demon, in whom is concentrated all feminine inventions.  I wished that once in thy life thou, who has never tasted the essence of love, and dreamed but of war, should know the secret marvels of the gallant amusement, since it is shameful that one of my followers should serve a fair lady badly.”

Thereupon the Sire d’Hocquetonville sat down to a table in order to please his prince as far as he could lawfully do so.  Then they all commenced to laugh, joke, and talk about the ladies; and according to their custom, they related to each other their good fortunes and their love adventures, sparing no woman except the queen of the house, and betraying the little habits of each one, to which followed horrible little confidences, which increased in treachery and lechery as the contents of the goblets grew less.  The duke, gay as a universal legatee, drew the guests out, telling lies himself to learn the truth from them; and his companions ate at a trot, drank at a full gallop, and their tongues rattled away faster than either.

Now, listening to them, and heating his brain with wine, the Sire d’Hocquetonville unharnessed himself little by little from the reluctance.  In spite of his virtues, he indulged certain desires, and became soaked in these impurities like a saint who defiles himself while saying his prayers.  Perceiving which, the prince, on the alert to satisfy his ire and his bile, began to say to him, joking him—­

“By Saint Castud, Raoul, we are all tarred with the same brush, all discreet away from here.  Go; we will say nothing to Madame.  By heaven! man, I wish thee to taste of the joys of paradise.  There,” said he, tapping the door of the room in which was Madame d’Hocquetonville, “in there is a lady of the court and a friend of the queen, but the greatest priestess of Venus that ever was, and her equal is not to be found in any courtesan, harlot, dancer, doxy, or hussy.  She was engendered at a moment when paradise was radiant with joy, when nature was procreating, when the planets were whispering vows of love, when the beasts were frisking and capering, and everything was aglow with desire.  Although the women make an altar of her bed, she is nevertheless