“Lamme,” said she, “my husband, weep not: I am not what thou deemest: I have not belonged to this monk.”
“Thou liest,” said Lamme, weeping and grinding his teeth both at the same time. “Ah! I was never jealous, and now I am. Sad passion, anger, and love, the need to slay and embrace. Begone, thou! no, stay! I was so good to her! Murder is master in me. My knife! Oh! this burns, devours, gnaws; thou laughest at me....
She embraced him weeping, gentle and submissive.
“Aye,” said he, “I am a fool in my anger: aye, thou didst guard my honour, that honour a man is mad enough to hang on a woman’s skirts. So it was for that thou wast wont to pick out thy sweetest smiles to ask me leave to go to the sermon with thy she-friends.”
“Let me speak,” said the woman, embracing him. “May I die on the instant if I deceive thee!”
“Die, then,” said Lamme, “for thou art going to lie.”
“Listen to me,” said she.
“Speak or speak not,” said he, “’tis all one to me.”
“Broer Adriaensen,” she said, “passed for a good preacher; I went to hear him: he set the ecclesiastic and celibate estate above all others as being more proper to win paradise for the faithful. His eloquence was great and fiery: several wives of good repute, of whom I was one, and in especial a goodly number of widow women and girls, had their minds troubled by it. The estate of celibacy being so perfect, he enjoined upon us to dwell therein: we swore thenceforward no longer to be spouses....”
“Save to him, no doubt,” said Lamme, weeping.