valet-de-chambre des rois Charles VIII.
Louis XII., &c_. Paris, Launette, 1884.--L. and M.

4 Brantome refers to this tale, as an example of marital
cruelty, in his _Vies des Dames Galantes_, Lalanne's
edition, vol. ix. p. 38.--L.

"If, ladies, all those whom a like adventure has befallen, were to drink
out of similar vessels, I greatly fear that many a gilt cup would be
turned into a death's head. May God keep us from such a fortune, for
if His goodness do not restrain us, there is none among us but might
do even worse; but if we trust in Him He will protect those who confess
that they are not able to protect themselves. Those who confide in
their own strength are in great danger of being tempted so far as to
be constrained to acknowledge their frailty. Many have stumbled through
pride in this way, while those who were reputed less discreet have been
saved with honour. The old proverb says truly, 'Whatsoever God keeps is
well kept.'"

"The punishment," said Parlamente, "was in my opinion a most reasonable
one, for, just as the offence was more than death, so ought the
punishment to have been."

"I am not of your opinion," said Ennasuite. "I would rather see the
bones of all my lovers hanging up in my cabinet than die on their
account. There is no misdeed that cannot be repaired during life, but
after death there is no reparation possible."

"How can shame be repaired?" said Longarine. "You know that, whatever
a woman may do after a misdeed of that kind, she cannot repair her
honour."

"I pray you," said Ennasuite, "tell me whether the Magdalen has not now
more honour among men than her sister who continued a virgin?" (5)

5 Martha, sister of Lazarus and Mary Magdalen.--M.

"I acknowledge," said Longarine, "that we praise her for the great love
she bore to Jesus Christ and for her deep repentance; yet the name of
sinner clings to her."

"I do not care what name men may give me," said Ennasuite, "if only God
forgive me, and my husband do the same. There is nothing for which I
should be willing to die."

"If the lady loved her husband as she ought," said Dagoucin, "I am
amazed that she did not die of sorrow on looking at the bones of the man
whom her guilt had slain."

"Why, Dagoucin," returned Simontault, "have you still to learn that
women know neither love nor even grief?"

"Yes, I have still to learn it," said Dagoucin, "for I have never made
trial of their love, through fea