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“All right,” said the provost.

The lady having heard every word, had folded up all her clothes, and put them under the bolster, had taken off her chemise, that her husband should not recognise it, had twisted her head up in a sheet, and had brought to light the carnal convexities which commenced where her spine finished.

“Come in, my friend,” said the lord.

The provost looked up the chimney, opened the cupboard, the clothes’ chest, felt under the bed, in the sheets, and everywhere. Then he began to study what was on the bed.

“My lord,” said he, regarding his legitimate appurtenances, “I have seen young English lads with backs like that. You must forgive me doing my duty, but I must see otherwise.”

“What do you call otherwise?” said the lord.

“Well, the other physiognomy, or, if you prefer it, the physiognomy of the other.”

“Then you will allow madame to cover herself and arrange only to show you sufficient to convince you,” said the lover, knowing that the lady had a mark or two easy to recognise. “Turn your back a moment, so that my dear lady may satisfy propriety.”

The wife smiled at her lover, kissed him for his dexterity, arranging herself cunningly; and the husband seeing in full that which the jade had never let him see before, was quite convinced that no English person could be thus fashioned without being a charming Englishwoman.

“Yes, my lord,” he whispered in the ear of his lieutenant, “this is certainly a lady of the court, because the towns-women are neither so well formed nor so charming.”

Then the house being thoroughly searched, and no Englishman found, the provost returned, as the constable had told him, to the king’s residence.

“Is he slain?” said the constable.

“Who?”

“He who grafted horns upon your forehead.”

“I only saw a lady in his couch, who seemed to be greatly enjoying herself with him.”

“You, with your own eyes, saw this woman, cursed cuckold, and you did not kill your rival?”

“It was not a common woman, but a lady of the court.”

“You saw her?”

“And verified her in both cases.”

“What do you mean by those words?” cried the king, who was bursting with laughter.

“I say, with all the respect due to your Majesty, that I have verified the over and the under.”

“You do not, then, know the physiognomies of your own wife, you old fool without memory! You deserve to be hanged.”

“I hold those features of my wife in too great respect to gaze upon them. Besides she is so modest that she would die rather than expose an atom of her body.”

“True,” said the king; “it was not made to be shown.”

“Old coquedouille! that was your wife,” said the constable.

“My lord constable, she is asleep, poor girl!”

“Quick, quick, then! To horse! Let us be off, and if she be in your house I’ll forgive you.”

Then the constable, followed by the provost, went to the latter’s house in less time than it would have taken a beggar to empty the poor-box.

“Hullo! there, hi!”

Hearing the noise made by the men, which threatened to bring the walls about their ears, the maid-servant opened the door, yawning and stretching her arms. The constable and the provost rushed into the room, where, with great difficulty, they succeeded in waking the lady, who pretended to be terrified, and was so soundly asleep that her eyes were full of gum. At this the provost was in great glee, saying to the constable that someone had certainly deceived him, that his wife was a virtuous woman, and was more astonished than any of them at these proceedings. The constable turned on his heel and departed. The good provost began directly to undress to get to bed early, since this adventure had brought his good wife to his memory. When he was harnessing himself, and was knocking off his nether garments, madame, still astonished, said to him–

“Oh, my dear husband, what is the meaning of all this uproar–this constable and his pages, and why did he come to see if I was asleep? Is it to be henceforward part of a constable’s duty to look after our . . .”

“I do not know,” said the provost, interrupting her, to tell her what had happened to him.

“And you saw without my permission a lady of the court! Ha! ha! heu! heu! hein!”

Then she began to moan, to weep, and to cry in such a deplorable manner and so loudly, that her lord was quite aghast.

“What’s the matter, my darling? What is it? What do you want?”

“Ah! You won’t love me any more are after seeing how beautiful court ladies are!”

“Nonsense, my child! They are great ladies. I don’t mind telling you in confidence; they are great ladies in every respect.”

“Well,” said she, “am I nicer?”

“Ah,” said he, “in a great measure. Yes!”

“They have, then, great happiness,” said she, sighing, “when I have so much with so little beauty.”

Thereupon the provost tried a better argument to argue with his good wife, and argued so well that she finished by allowing herself to be convinced that Heaven has ordained that much pleasure may be obtained from small things.

This shows us that nothing here below can prevail against the Church of Cuckolds.