hen Brother Jean Turelure was called to Venice
by the General of his Order, to preach to sundry Turks lately converted
to the true Faith.

Before setting forth, the good Brother went to take leave of his fair
Penitent, and upbraided her with more than usual sternness for living
a dissolute life. He exhorted her urgently to repent and pressed her to
wear a hair-shirt next her skin,--an incomparable remedy against naughty
cravings and a sovran medicine for natures over prone to the sins of the
flesh.

She besought him: "Good Brother, never ask too much of me."

But he would not hearken, and threatened her with the pains of hell if
she did not amend her ways. Then he told her he would gladly execute any
commissions she might be pleased to entrust him with. He was in hopes
she would beg him to bring her back some consecrated medal, a rosary,
or, better still, a little of the soil of the Holy Sepulchre which the
Turks carry from Jerusalem together with dried roses, and which the
Italian monks sell.

But Madame Violante preferred a quite other request:

"Good Brother, dear Brother, as you are going to Venice, where such
cunning workmen in this sort are to be found, I pray you bring me back a
Venetian mirror, the clearest and truest can be gotten."

Brother Jean Turelure promised to content her wish.

While her Confessor was abroad, Madame Violante led the same life as
before. And when Messire Philippe pressed her: "Were it not well to take
our pleasure together?" she would answer: "Nay! 't is too hot. Look at
the weathercock if the wind will not change anon." And the good folk
who watched her ways were in despair of her ever giving a proper pair
of horns to her crabbed old husband. "'T is a sin and a shame!" they
declared.

On his return from Italy Brother Jean Turelure presented himself before
Madame Violante and told her he had brought what she desired.

"Look, madame," he said, and drew from under his gown a death's-head.

"Here, madame, is your mirror. This death's-head was given me for that
of the prettiest woman in all Venice. She was what you are, and you will
be much like her anon."

Madame Violante, mastering her surprise and horror, answered the good
Father in a well-assured voice that she understood the lesson he would
teach her and she would not fail to profit thereby.

"I shall aye have present in my mind, good Brother, the mirror you
have brought me from Venice, wherein I see my likeness not as I a