very beautiful and amiable, this one.”      

       A soldier well armed allowed him to pass, believing him to belong to the suite of the Elector of Bavaria, who had just left, and that he was going to deliver a message on behalf of the above-mentioned nobleman. Philippe de Mala mounted the stairs as lightly as a greyhound in love, and was guided by delectable odour of perfume to certain chamber where, surrounded by her handmaidens, the lady of the house was divesting herself of her attire. He stood quite dumbfounded like a thief surprised by sergeants. The lady was without petticoat or head-dress. The chambermaid and the servants, busy taking off her stockings and undressing her, so quickly and dextrously had her stripped, that the priest, overcome, gave vent to a long Ah! which had the flavour of love about it.     

       “What want you, little one?” said the lady to him.     

       “To yield my soul to you,” said he, flashing his eyes upon her.     

       “You can come again to-morrow,” said she, in order to be rid of him.     

       To which Philippe replied, blushing, “I will not fail.”      

       Then she burst out laughing. Philippe, struck motionless, stood quite at his ease, letting wander over her his eyes that glowed and sparkled with the flame of love. What lovely thick hair hung upon her ivory white back, showing sweet white places, fair and shining between the many tresses! She had upon her snow-white brow a ruby circlet, less fertile in rays of fire than her black eyes, still moist with tears from her hearty laugh. She even threw her slipper at a statue gilded like a shrine, twisting herself about from very ribaldry and allowed her bare foot, smaller than a swan’s bill, to be seen. This evening she was in a good humour, otherwise she would have had the little shaven-crop put out by the window without more ado than her first bishop.     

       “He has fine eyes, Madame,” said one of her handmaids.     

       “Where does he comes from?” asked another.     

       “Poor child!” cried Madame, “his mother must be looking for him. Show him his way home.”      

       The Touranian, still sensible, gave a movement of delight at the sight 

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