On his return from Italy Brother Jean Turelure presented himself before Madame Violante and told her he had brought what she desired.
“Look, madame,” he said, and drew from under his gown a death’s-head.
“Here, madame, is your mirror. This death’s-head was given me for that of the prettiest woman in all Venice. She was what you are, and you will be much like her anon.”
Madame Violante, mastering her surprise and horror, answered the good Father in a well-assured voice that she understood the lesson he would teach her and she would not fail to profit thereby.
“I shall aye have present in my mind, good Brother, the mirror you have brought me from Venice, wherein I see my likeness not as I am at present, but as doubtless I soon shall be. I promise you to govern my behaviour by this salutary thought.”
Brother Jean Turelure was far from expecting such pious words. He expressed some satisfaction.
“So, madame,” he murmured, “you see yourself the need of altering your ways. You promise me henceforth to govern your behaviour by the thought this fleshless skull hath brought home to you. Will you not make the same promise to God as you have to me?”
She asked if indeed she must, and he assured her it behoved her so to do.
“Well, I will give this promise then,” she declared.
“Madame, this is very well. There is no going back on your word now.”