Some time ago I was at Saint Omer with a number of noble companions, some from the neighbourhood and Boulogne, and some from elsewhere, and after a game of tennis, we went to sup at the inn of a tavern-keeper, who is a well-to-do man and a good fellow, and who has a very pretty and buxom wife, by whom he has a fine boy, of the age of six or seven years.
We were all seated at supper, the inn-keeper, his wife, and her son, who stood near her, being with us, and some began to talk, others to sing and make good cheer, and our host did his best to make himself agreeable.
His wife had been that day to the warm baths, and her little son with her. So our host thought, to make the company laugh, to ask his son about the people who were at the baths with his mother, (*) and said;
“Come here, my son, and tell me truly which of all the women at the baths had the finest and the biggest c——?”
(*) The public baths were then much frequented, especially
by the lower classes. Men, women, and children all bathed
together.
The child being questioned before his mother, whom he feared as children usually do, looked at her, and did not speak.
The father, not expecting to find him so quiet, said again;
“Tell me, my son; who had the biggest c—— Speak boldly.”
“I don’t know, father,” replied the child, still glancing at his mother.
“By God, you lie,” said his father. “Tell me! I want to know.”