“Come, my father,” said the chatelaine, giving her arm to the monk, whom she put at her side in the baron’s chair, to the great astonishment of the attendants, because the Sire of Cande said not a word.  “Page, give some of this to Father Amador,” said madame.

“Father Amador has need of so and so,” said the Demoiselle de Cande.

“Fill up Father Amador’s goblet,” said the sire.

“Father Amador has no bread,” said the little lady.

“What do you require, Father Amador?” said Perrotte.

It was Father Amador here, and Father Amador there.  He was regaled like a little maiden on her wedding night.

“Eat, father,” said madame; “you made such a bad meal yesterday.”

“Drink, father,” said the sire.  “You are, s’blood! the finest monk I have ever set eyes on.”

“Father Amador is a handsome monk,” said Perrotte.

“An indulgent monk,” said the demoiselle.

“A beneficent monk,” said the little one.

“A great monk,” said the lady.

“A monk who well deserves his name,” said the clerk of the castle.

Amador munched and chewed, tried all the dishes, lapped up the hypocras, licked his chops, sneezed, blew himself out, strutted and stamped about like a bull in a field.  The others regarded him with great fear, believing him to be a magician.  Dinner over, the Lady of Cande, the demoiselle, and the little one, besought the Sire of Cande with a thousand fine arguments, to terminate the litigation.  A great deal was said to him by madame, who pointed out to him how useful a monk was in a castle; by mademoiselle, who wished for the future to polish up her conscience every day; by the little one, who pulled her father’s beard, and asked that this monk might always be at Cande.  If ever the difference were arranged, it would be by the monk:  the monk was of a good understanding, gentle and virtuous as a saint; it was a misfortune to be at enmity with a monastery containing such monks.  If all the monks were like him, the abbey would always have everywhere the advantage of the castle, and would ruin it, because this monk was very strong.  Finally, they gave utterance to a thousand reasons, which were like a deluge of words, and were so pluvially showered down that the sire yielded, saying, that there would never be a moment’s peace in the house until matters were settled to the satisfaction of the women.  Then he sent for the clerk, who wrote down for him, and also for the monk.  Then Amador surprised them exceedingly by showing them the charters and the letters of credit, which would prevent the sire and his clerk delaying this agreement.  When the Lady of Cande saw them about to put an end to this old case, she went to the linen chest to get some fine cloth to make a new gown for her dear Amador.  Every one in the house had noticed how this old gown was worn, and it would have been a great shame to leave such a treasure in such a worn-out case.  Everyone was eager to work at the gown.  Madame cut it, the servant put the hood on, the demoiselle sewed it, and the little demoiselle worked at the sleeves.  And all set so heartily to work to adorn the monk, that the robe was ready by supper time, as was also the charter of agreement prepared and sealed by the Sire de Cande.