tesy you repay me by concealing your
mind. Know, now, without doubt, that never again shall I have in you
such affiance, nor grant you my love with such sweetness, as I have
bestowed them in the past."

Thereat the Duchess began to weep and sigh, making the most tender
sorrow that she was able. The Duke felt such pity for her grief that
he said to her,

"Fairest and dearest, your wrath and anger are more heavy than I can
bear; but learn that I cannot tell what you wish me to say without
sinning against my honour too grievously."

Then she replied forthwith,

"Husband, if you do not tell me, the reason can only be that you do
not trust me to keep silence in the business. I wonder the more sorely
at this, because there is no matter, either great or small, that you
have told me, which has been published by me. I tell you honestly that
never in my life could I be so indiscreet."

When she had said this, she betook her again to her tears. The Duke
kissed and embraced her, and was so sick of heart that strength failed
him to keep his purpose.

"Fair wife," he said to her, "by my soul I am at my wits' end. I have
such trust and faith in you that I deem I should hide nothing, but
show you all that I know. Yet I dread that you will let fall some
word. Know, wife--and I tell it you again--that if ever you betray
this counsel you will get death for your payment."

The Duchess made answer,

"I agree to the bargain, for it is not possible that I should deal you
so shrewd a wrong."

Then he who loved her, because of his faith and his credence in her
word, told all this story of his niece, even as he had learned it from
the knight. He told how those two were alone together in the shadow of
the wall, when the little dog ran to them. He showed plainly of that
coming forth from the chamber, and of the entering in; nothing was
hid, he concealed naught of that he had heard and seen. When the
Duchess understood that the love of a mighty dame was despised for the
sake of a lowly gentlewoman, her humiliation was bitter in her mouth
as death. She showed no semblance of despitefulness, but made covenant
and promise with the Duke to keep the matter close, saying that should
she repeat his tale he might hang her from a tree.

Time went very heavily with the lady, till she could get speech with
her, whom she hated from the hour she knew her to be the friend of him
who had caused her such shame and grief. She was persuaded that for