“I care not about his welcome,” she said. “I do not go on a pilgrimage for the sake of his, or any one else’s welcome. I only think of my devotion.”
“Devotion, wife!” he answered. “By Our Lady, you had none! I know very well why you are so vexed and sorrowful. You did not find what you expected—that is the exact truth. Ha, ha, madam! I know the cause of your pilgrimage. You wanted to make trial of the physical gifts of our host of St. Michel, but, by St. John, I was on my guard, and always will be if I can help it. And that you may not think that I lied when I told you that he had such a big affair, by God, I said nothing but what is true. But you wanted something more than hearsay evidence, and, if I had not stopped you, you would in your ‘devotion’ have tried its power for yourself. You see I know all, and to remove any doubts you may have on the subject, I may tell you that I came last night at the appointed hour, and took his place—so be content with what I was able to do, and remain satisfied with what you have. This time I pardon you, but take care that it never occurs again.”
The damsel, confused and astonished at being thus caught, as soon as she could speak, begged his pardon, and promised never to do anything of the sort again. And I believe that she never did.
STORY THE SIXTY-SIXTH — THE WOMAN AT THE BATH.
By Philippe De Laon.
Of an inn-keeper at Saint Omer who put to his son a question for which he was afterwards sorry when he heard the reply, at which his wife was much ashamed, as you will hear, later.