“If I forget it, a yet, God will not forget.
“Are not those of verse is yours?”
“Madame,” said the duke, turning pale with anger, “I can have you bound—”
“Oh no! I can free myself,” replied she, brandishing the stiletto.
The rapscallion began to laugh.
“Never mind,” said he. “I have a means of plunging you into the sloughs of three brazen hussies, as you call them.”
“Never, while I live.”
“Head and heels you shall go in—with your two feet, two hands, two ivory breasts, and two other things, white as snow—your teeth, your hair, and everything. You will go of your own accord; you shall enter into it lasciviously, and in a way to crush your cavalier, as a wild horse does its rider—stamping, leaping, and snorting. I swear it by Saint Castud!”
Instantly he whistled for one of his pages. And when the page came, he secretly ordered him to go and seek the Sire d’Hocquetonville, Savoisy, Tanneguy, Cypierre, and other members of his band, asking them to these rooms to supper, not without at the same time inviting to meet his guests a pretty petticoat or two.
Then he came and sat down in his chair again, ten paces from the lady, off whom he had not taken his eye while giving his commands to the page in a whisper.