issed him, after
rating him amain and beseeching him occupy himself no more with these
follies, the which he promised him. The gentleman, overjoyed both at
the assurance that himseemed he had of the lady's love and at the
goodly gift, was no sooner quit of the friar than he betook himself to
a place where he made shift to let his mistress see that he had the
one and the other thing; whereat she was mightily rejoiced, more by
token that herseemed her device went from good to better. She now
awaited nought but her husband's going abroad to give completion to
the work, and it befell not long after that it behoved him repair to
Genoa on some occasion or other. No sooner had he mounted to horse in
the morning and gone his way, than the lady betook herself to the holy
man and after many lamentations, said to him, weeping, 'Father mine,
I tell you now plainly that I can brook no more; but, for that I
promised you the other day to do nought, without first telling you, I
am come to excuse myself to you; and that you may believe I have good
reason both to weep and to complain, I will tell you what your friend,
or rather devil incarnate, did to me this very morning, a little
before matins. I know not what ill chance gave him to know that my
husband was to go to Genoa yestermorn; algates, this morning, at the
time I tell you, he came into a garden of mine and climbing up by a
tree to the window of my bedchamber, which giveth upon the garden, had
already opened the lattice and was for entering, when I of a sudden
awoke and starting up, offered to cry out, nay, would assuredly have
cried out, but that he, who was not yet within, besought me of mercy
in God's name and yours, telling me who he was; which when I heard, I
held my peace for the love of you and naked as I was born, ran and
shut the window in his face; whereupon I suppose he took himself off
(ill-luck go with him!), for I heard no more of him. Look you now if
this be a goodly thing and to be endured. For my part I mean to bear
with him no more; nay, I have already forborne him overmuch for the
love of you.' The friar, hearing this, was the wrathfullest man alive
and knew not what to say, except to ask again and again if she had
well certified herself that it was indeed he and not another; to which
she answered, 'Praised be God! As if I did not yet know him from
another! I tell you it was himself, and although he should deny it,
credit him not.' Then said the friar, 'Daughter