In the morning the wife's kind heart is again uppermost and she says to her husband:
"You had an extraordinary attack last night; it's over now, but you're still pale today."
"Yes," he replies, "it takes it out of one to be witty at my age. I'll never do it again."
But, after having spoken of many kinds of Love, Friar Vendt tells of yet another kind and says:
What rapture there is in one kind of Love!
The young Lord and Lady had just come home, their long wedding tour was at an end and they settled down to rest.
A shooting star fell above their roof.
In summer the young couple walked together and never left each other's side. They plucked flowers, yellow, red and blue, and gave them to each other; they saw the grass swaying in the wind and heard the birds singing in the woods, and every word they spoke was like a caress. In winter they drove with bells on their horses and the sky was blue and high above them, the stars coursed over their everlasting plains.
Thus passed many, many years. The young couple had three children and their hearts loved one another as on the first day, in the first kiss.