“First of all,” she said, “I require you both to promise on oath that you will inform no man living of this matter.” This they promised right willingly.
“Then,” she continued, “I would have you take your pleasure with me one after the other, for it would be too great a shame for me to have to do with one in presence of the other. Consider which of you will have me first.”
They deemed her request a very reasonable one, and the younger friar yielded the first place to the elder. Then, as they were drawing near a little island, she said to the younger one—
“Good father, say your prayers here until I have taken your companion to another island. Then, if he praises me when he comes back, we will leave him here, and go away in turn together.”
The younger friar leapt out on to the island to await the return of his comrade, whom the boat-woman took away with her to another island. When they had reached the bank she said to him, pretending the while to fasten her boat to a tree—
“Look, my friend, and see where we can place ourselves.”
The good father stepped on to the island to seek for a convenient spot, but no sooner did she see him on land than she struck her foot against the tree and went off with her boat into the open stream, leaving both the good fathers to their deserts, and crying out to them as loudly as she could—
“Wait now, sirs, till the angel of God comes to console you; for you shall have nought that could please you from me to-day.”
The two poor monks, perceiving that they had been deceived, knelt down at the water’s edge and besought her not to put them to such shame; and they promised that they would ask nothing of her if she would of her goodness take them to the haven. But, still rowing away, she said to them—
“I should be doubly foolish if, after escaping out of your hands, I were to put myself into them again.”