Josserande instantly left her wheel.
"It would be a sin to spin one thread more," said she. "Come, my son Sylvestre, put on your Sunday clothes, and let us be off for the parish church, if you please."
Sylvestre wished to rise, for never yet had he disobeyed his mother; but Matheline, seated at his side, detained him and murmured in silvery tones,—
"My handsome friend, you have plenty of time."
Pol, on his side, said to Dame Josserande,—
"Get your staff, neighbor, and start at once, so as to take your time. Your god-daughter Matheline will accompany you; and I will follow with friend Sylvestre, for fear some accident might happen to him with his lame leg and sightless eye." As he proposed, so it was done; for Josserande suspected nothing, knowing that her son had promised, and that he would not break his word.
As they were leaving, Pol whispered to Matheline,—
"Amuse the good woman well, for the fool must remain here."
And the girl replied,—