ad animal, and that she herself knew some who
were better under the ground than on it. The pilgrims, noticing then
how pretty the girl was, were afraid of breaking their vows, and went
straight to bed. The girl went and told her mistress she was
harbouring infidels, and told her what they had said about women.

"Ah!" said the landlady, "what matters it to me the thoughts my
customers have in their brains, so long as their purses are well
filled."

And when the servant had told of the jewels, she exclaimed--

"Ah, these are questions which concern all women. Let us go and reason
with them. I'll take the nobles, you can have the citizen."

The landlady, who was the most shameless inhabitant of the duchy of
Milan, went into the chamber where the Sire de La Vaugrenand and the
German baron were sleeping, and congratulated them upon their vows,
saying that the women would not lose much by them; but to accomplish
these said vows it was necessary they should endeavour to withstand
the strongest temptations. Then she offered to lie down beside them,
so anxious were she to see if she would be left unmolested, a thing
which had never happened to her yet in the company of a man.

On the morrow, at breakfast, the servant had the ring on her finger,
her mistress had the gold chain and the pearl earrings. The three
pilgrims stayed in the town about a month, spending there all the
money they had in their purses, and agreed that if they had spoken so
severely of women it was because they had not known those of Milan.

On his return to Germany the Baron made this observation: that he was
only guilty of one sin, that of being in his castle. The Citizen of
Paris came back full of stories for his wife, and found her full of
Hope. The Burgundian saw Madame de La Vaugrenand so troubled that he
nearly died of the consolations he administered to her, in spite of
his former opinions. This teaches us to hold our tongues in
hostelries.

INNOCENCE

By the double crest of my fowl, and by the rose lining of my
sweetheart's slipper! By all the horns of well-beloved cuckolds, and
by the virtue of their blessed wives! the finest work of man is
neither poetry, nor painted pictures, nor music, nor castles, nor
statues, be they carved never so well, nor rowing, nor sailing
galleys, but children.

Understand me, children up to the age of ten years, for after that
they become men or women, and cutting their wisdom