er husband loved none but herself, she
was well pleased that her servants should amuse him.

It happened one evening, however, when they had read longer than was
their wont, that the lady looked towards her husband's bed where was the
young serving-maid holding the candle. Of her she could see nothing but
her back, and of her husband nothing at all excepting on the side of
the chimney, which jutted out in front of his bed, and the white wall of
which was bright with the light from the candle. And upon this wall
she could plainly see the shadows both of her husband and of her maid;
whether they drew apart, or came near together or laughed, it was all as
clear to her as though she had veritably beheld them.

The gentleman, using no precaution since he felt sure that his wife
could not see them, kissed her maid, and on the first occasion his wife
suffered this to pass without uttering a word. But when she saw that the
shadows frequently returned to this fellowship, she feared that there
might be some reality beneath it all, and burst into a loud laugh,
whereat the shadows were alarmed and separated.

The gentleman then asked his wife why she was laughing so heartily, so
that he might have a share in her merriment.

"Husband," she replied, "I am so foolish that I laugh at my own shadow."

Inquire as he might, she would never acknowledge any other reason, but,
nevertheless, he thenceforward refrained from kissing such shadow-faces.

"That is the story of which I was reminded when I spoke of the lady who
loved her husband's sweetheart."

"By my faith," said Ennasuite, "if my maid had treated me in that
fashion, I should have risen and extinguished the candle upon her nose."

"You are indeed terrible," said Hircan, "but it had been well done
if your husband and the maid had both turned upon you and beaten you
soundly. There should not be so much ado for a kiss; and 'twould have
been better if his wife had said nothing about it, and had suffered him
to take his pastime, which might perchance have cured his complaint."

"Nay," said Parlamente, "she was afraid that the end of the pastime
would make him worse."

"She was not one of those," said Oisille, "against whom our Lord says,
'We have mourned to you and ye have not lamented, we have sung to you
and ye have not danced,' (2) for when her husband was ill, she wept, and
when he was merry, she laughed. In the same fashion every virtuous
woman ought to share the good and