"Oh! my lord, you are a joking."
"No," said he.
"Yes," said she.
"By St. Gatien, St. Eleuther, and by the thousand million saints who are in heaven, I swear that—"
"Ah! Well; if you are not jesting I should like those fagots to pass through the hands of the notary."
"By the blood of Christ and the charms of your daughter am I not a gentleman? Is not my word good enough?"
"Ah! well I don't say that it is not; but as true as I am a poor spinner I love my child too much to leave her; she is too young and weak at present, she will break down in service. Yesterday, in his sermon, the vicar said that we should have to answer to God for our children."
"There! There!" said the lord, "go and find the notary."
An old woodcutter ran to the scrivener, who came and drew up a contract, to which the lord of Valennes then put his cross, not knowing how to write, and when all was signed and sealed—
"Well, old lady," said he, "now you are no longer answerable to God for the virtue of your child."