“Alas, my host, I beg for mercy. What is it you, would ask of me?”
“I ask,” said he, “the tithe of the tithe you have received from my wife.”
When the Cordelier heard the word tithes, he began to think that he was in a fix, and did not know what to reply except to beg for mercy, and to excuse himself as well as he could.
“Now tell me,” said the husband, “what tithe it is that you take from my wife and the others?”
The poor Cordelier was so frightened that he could not speak, and answered never a word.
“Tell me all about it,” said the young man, “and I swear to you I will let you go and do you no harm;—but if you do not confess I will kill you stone dead.”
When the other felt convinced that he had better confess his sin and that of his companions and escape, than conceal the facts and be in danger of losing his life, he said;
“My host, I beg for mercy, and I will tell you the truth. It is true that my companions and I have made all the women of this town believe that they owe us tithes for all the times their husbands sleep with them. They believed us, and they all pay—young and old—when once they are married. There is not one that is excused—my lady even pays like the others—her two nieces also—and in general there is no one that is exempt.”
“Marry!” said the other, “since my lord and other great folks pay it, I ought not to be dissatisfied, however much I may dislike it. Well! you may go, worthy father, on this condition—that you do not attempt to collect the tithe that my wife owes you.”
The other was never so joyous as when he found himself outside the house, and said to himself that he would never ask for anything of the kind again, nor did he, as you will hear.