“Yes, truly,” replied the other; “the plague carried her off last year, along with many others.”
He told this lie, which cost him dear, because he knew that the clerk had only left home on account of his wife, who was of a quarrelsome disposition, and he thought the most pleasant news he could bring was to announce her death, and truly so it would have been, but the news was false.
“And what brings you to this country?” asked the clerk after many and various questions.
“I will tell you, my friend and companion. The curé of our town is dead; so I came to you to ask if by any means I could obtain the benefice. I would beg of you to help me in this matter. I know that it is in your power to procure me the living, with the help of monseigneur, your master.”
The clerk, thinking that his wife was dead, and the cure of his native town vacant, thought to himself that he would snap up this living, and others too if he could get them. But, all the same, he said nothing to his friend, except that it would not be his fault if the other were not curé of their town,—for which he was much thanked.
It happened quite otherwise, for, on the morrow, our Holy Father, at the request of the Cardinal, the master of our clerk, gave the latter the living.
Thereupon this clerk, when he heard the news, came to his companion, and said to him,
“Ah, friend, by my oath, your hopes are dissipated, at which I am much vexed.”
“How so?” asked the other.
“The cure of our town is given,” he said, “but I know not to whom. Monseigneur, my master, tried to help you, but it was not in his power to accomplish it.”