"And what brings you to this country?" asked the clerk after many and various questions.

"I will tell you, my friend and companion. The cure 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 cure 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."

At which the other was vexed, after he had come so far and expended so much. So he sorrowfully took leave of his friend, and returned to his own country, without boasting about the lie he had told.

But let us return to our clerk, who was as merry as a grig at the news of the death of his wife, and to whom the benefice of his native town had been given, at the request of his master, by the Holy Father, as a reward for his services. And let us record how he became a priest at Rome, and chanted his first holy Ma.s.s, and took leave of his master for a time, in order to return and take possession of his living.

When he entered the town, by ill luck the first person that he chanced to meet was his wife, at which he was much astonished I can a.s.sure you, and still more vexed.

"What is the meaning of this, my dear?" he asked. "They told me you were dead!"

"Nothing of the kind," she said. "You say so, I suppose, because you wish it, as you have well proved, for you have left me for five years, with a number of young children to take care of."

"My dear," he said, "I am very glad to see you in good health, and I praise G.o.d for it with all my heart. Cursed be he who brought me false news."

"Amen!" she replied.

"But I must tell you, my dear, that I cannot stay now; I am obliged to go in haste to the Bishop of Noyon, on a matter which concerns him; but I will return to you as quickly as I can."

He left his wife, and took his way to Noyon; but G.o.d knows that all along the road he thought of his strange position.

"Alas!" he said, "I am undone and dishonoured. A priest! a clerk! and married! I suppose I am the first miserable wretch to whom that ever occurred!"

He went to the Bishop of Noyon, who was much surprised at hearing his case, and did not know what to advise him, so sent him back to Rome.

When he arrived there, he related his adventure at length to his master, who was bitterly annoyed, and on the morrow repeated it to our Holy Father, in the presence of the Sacred College and all the Cardinals.

So it was ordered that he should remain priest, and married, and cure also; and that he should live with his wife as a married man, honourably and without reproach, and that his children should be legitimate and not b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, although their father was a priest. Moreover, that if it was found he lived apart from his wife, he should lose the living.

Thus, as you have heard, was this gallant punished for believing the false news of his friend, and was obliged to go and live in his own parish, and, which was worse, with his wife, with whose company he would have gladly dispensed if the Church had not ordered it otherwise.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 43.jpg A BARGAIN IN HORNS.]

STORY THE FORTY-THIRD -- A BARGAIN IN HORNS.

By Monseigneur De Fiennes.

_Of a labourer who found a man with his wife, and forwent his revenge for a certain quant.i.ty of wheat, but his wife insisted that he should complete the work he had begun._

There lived formerly, in the district of Lille, a worthy man who was a labourer and tradesman, and who managed, by the good offices of himself and his friends, to obtain for a wife a very pretty young girl, but who was not rich, neither was her husband, but he was very covetous, and diligent in business, and loved to gain money.

And she, for her part, attended to the household as her husband desired; who therefore had a good opinion of her, and often went about his business without any suspicion that she was other than good.

But whilst the poor man thus came and went, and left his wife alone, a good fellow came to her, and, to cut the story short, was in a short time the deputy for the trusting husband, who still believed that he had the best wife in the world, and the one who most thought about the increase of his honour and his worldly wealth.

It was not so, for she gave him not the love she owed him, and cared not whether he had profit or loss by her. The good merchant aforesaid, being out as usual, his wife soon informed her friend, who did not fail to come as he was desired, at once. And not to lose his time, he approached his mistress, and made divers amorous proposals to her, and in short the desired pleasure was not refused him any more than on the former occasions, which had not been few.

By bad luck, whilst the couple were thus engaged, the husband arrived, and found them at work, and was much astonished, for he did not know that his wife was a woman of that sort.

"What is this?" he said. "By G.o.d's death, scoundrel, I will kill you on the spot."

The other, who had been caught in the act, and was much scared, knew not what to say, but as he was aware that the husband was miserly and covetous, he said quickly:

"Ah, John, my friend, I beg your mercy; pardon me if I have done you any wrong, and on my word I will give you six bushels of wheat."

"By G.o.d!" said he, "I will do nothing of the kind. You shall die by my hands and I will have your life if I do not have twelve bushels."

The good wife, who heard this dispute, in order to restore peace, came forward, and said to her husband.

"John, dear, let him finish what he has begun, I beg, and you shall have eight bushels. Shall he not?" she added, turning to her lover.

"I am satisfied," he said, "though on my oath it is too much, seeing how dear corn is."

"It is too much?" said the good man. "Morbleu! I much regret that I did not say more, for you would have to pay a much heavier fine if you were brought to justice: however, make up your mind that I will have twelve bushels, or you shall die."

"Truly, John," said his wife, "you are wrong to contradict me. It seems to me that you ought to be satisfied with eight bushels, for you know that is a large quant.i.ty of wheat."

"Say no more," he replied, "I will have twelve bushels, or I will kill him and you too."

"The devil," quoth the lover; "you drive a bargain; but at least, if I must pay you, let me have time."

"That I agree to, but I will have my twelve bushels."

The dispute ended thus, and it was agreed that he was to pay in two instalments,--six bushels on the morrow, and the others on St. Remy's day, then near.

All this was arranged by the wife, who then said to her husband.

"You are satisfied, are you not, to receive your wheat in the manner I have said?"