must be admitted that these churchmen have more wit about them than the knights, but just think of the amusement connected with having to go to church in order to hear your lover sing mass, or with running across him when he is escorting a corpse to its last resting place and is mumbling away at his prayers, in a hurry to return to the house of mourning and have his share of the feast. I must confess it shocks my delicacy."

Eglantine—"And if he makes you a present! Fie! His gifts are impregnated with a nauseating odor—they smell of dead bodies."

Marphise (laughing)—"'And should you die, my beloved, I shall very piously and particularly recommend your soul to God, and sing a superb mass with ringing bells.'—"

The three women laugh aloud at Marphise's joke.

The Canoness—"And for all that, out of ten women you will not find two who have not a clerk or a knight for their lover."

Marphise—"I believe Deliane is mistaken."

Eglantine—"Let's see. We are here twelve in the orchard. We are all young, as we know; handsome, as we are told. We are no fools, either. We know how to find amusement while our husbands are away in the Holy Land."

Marphise (laughing)—"Where they expiate their own sins—and ours."

The Canoness—"Blessed be Peter the Hermit! With his preaching of the first Crusade over a hundred years ago, the holy man gave the signal for the delectation of the women—"

Marphise—"That Peter the Hermit must have been bribed by the lovers. More than one husband who departed for Palestine has repeated, while scratching his ears: 'I'd like to know what my wife Capeluche is doing at this hour! By the blood of God, what is my wife doing now?'"

Eglantine (impatiently)—"What we do? Indeed! Why, we enrol our husbands in the large fraternity of St. Arnold. Besides, they are Crusaders. Their salvation is, accordingly, doubly certain. But, for mercy's sake, dear friends, let's leave our husbands in Palestine; may they stay there as long as possible; and let us return to my plan. It is a pleasanter thing to consider. Deliane claims that out of ten women there are not two who have not a clerk or a knight for their lover. We are here twelve of us. Each of us has her tender secret. Where is the woman so small as to reject a lover when she is herself gentilely and loyally smitten? To yield is a sweet duty."

The Canoness (with languor)—"Thank God, we do not desire our fellowmen's death. We must yield to those who love us."

Marphise (gravely)—"The woman who, being adored with love, would cause the death of a man by her refusal, must be condemned as a homicide. The Court of Love has under my presidency, issued that memorable decree at its last session under the young elm. The said decree was rendered at the instance of the Conservator of the High Privileges of Love, who made the application before the Chamber of Sweet Pledges. The applicant, if I remember rightly, was a lover residing in the purlieus of the 'Delightful Passion,' 'Perseverence Street,' 'Hotel Despair,' where the unhappy fellow was dying of his flame's inhumanity. Fortunately, when our Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram, accompanied by the Bailiff of the Joy of Joys, notified the tigress of the Court's decree, she recoiled before the fear of falling into mortal sin by causing the death of her admirer, and surrendered unconditionally to him."

The Canoness (with unction)—"It is so sweet a thing to snatch one of God's creatures from the clutches of death!"

Eglantine—"Mercy, dear friends. Why do you not listen to my plan? All the twelve of us have some secret love. Let us select one of us for confessor. We shall each in succession make to her our sweet admission. The confessor shall announce the result of our confidences. We shall thus know the number of those who have a spurred or a tonsured lover. The question will then be settled."

The Canoness—"An excellent idea! What say you, Marphise? I give it my full support."

Marphise—"I accept it! And I am certain our other friends will join in. That will furnish us amusement until night."

Indeed, Eglantine's proposition is gladly accepted by the young women. They draw together, and by common accord choose Marphise as the Lady Confessor. Upon her election, Marphise seats herself on the bench of verdure; her friends step a few paces back and cast mischievous glances upon the Lady Confessor and upon the one confessing. The first of these is Eglantine, the pretty Viscountess of Seligny. She is on her knees at the feet of Marphise, who assuming the manners of a nun, lovingly presses the two hands of the penitent, and addresses her with a self-confident air and sanctimonious voice:

Marphise—"Come, dear daughter, open to me your heart; conceal nothing; frankly confess all your sins; say who is your lover."

Eglantine (with hands joined and eyes lowered)—"Lady Confessor, he whom I love is young and handsome. He is brave as a knight; well-spoken as a clerk; and yet is he neither clerk nor knight. His fame is greater than that of the most famous counts and dukes; and yet is he neither count nor duke. (Marphise listens to the confession with redoubled attention.) Perhaps his birth is obscure, but his glory shines with incomparable luster."

Marphise—"You may well be proud of such a choice. Your lover is a marvel, a phoenix. What is the name of that admirable lover?"

Eglantine—"Lady Confessor, I may boldly name him. His name is Mylio the Trouvere."

Marphise (thrilling and blushing with emotion)—"What! Did you say, dear daughter, that it is—Mylio the Trouvere?"

Eglantine (with downcast eyes)—"Yes, Lady Confessor. That is his name."

Marphise (seeking to suppress her surprise and emotion)—"Go, dear daughter, I pray to God that your lover be faithful to you."

The canoness steps forward in her turn, kneels down, and, slightly smiling, slightly smites her well-rounded bosom with her white hands.

Marphise—"These tokens of sorrow denote some great sin, dear daughter! Is your choice, perchance, blame-worthy?"

The Canoness—"Oh! Not at all! I only fear I am not beautiful enough for my lover, who is the most accomplished of men: youth, wit, beauty, courage—he joins them all in his person! What joy there is in his company!"

Marphise—"And the name of that phoenix?"

The Canoness (languorously)—"Mylio the Trouvere. That is my friend's name."

Marphise (nettled and even angered)—"He again?"

The Canoness—"Do you, perhaps, know my lover?"

Marphise (repressing herself)—"Do you tenderly love that lover, so faithful to you?"

The Canoness (with fire)—"Oh! I love him with all the power of my soul."

Marphise—"Go, dear daughter. Let the next one come. (sighs) May God protect all constant loves."

Ursine, Countess of Mont-Ferrier, approaches on a run and leaping like a doe in the month of May. You never saw, and never will you see a more dainty, more saucy, or more savory creature. She was one of the most giddy-headed climbers among those who gathered fruit. Her chaplet of gladiolas lies