If her husband suspected the nocturnal
visit of a lover, he was capable of roasting her alive in an iron
cage, or of killing her by degrees in the dungeons of a fortified
castle. Looking down at the shabby clothing in which he had disguised
himself, the young nobleman felt ashamed. His black leather belt, his
stout shoes, his ribbed socks, his linsey-woolsey breeches, and his
gray woollen doublet made him look like the clerk of some
poverty-stricken justice. To a noble of the fifteenth century it was
like death itself to play the part of a beggarly burgher, and renounce
the privileges of his rank. But--to climb the roof of the house where
his mistress wept; to descend the chimney, or creep along from gutter
to gutter to the window of her room; to risk his life to kneel beside
her on a silken cushion before a glowing fire, during the sleep of a
dangerous husband, whose snores would double their joy; to defy both
heaven and earth in snatching the boldest of all kisses; to say no
word that would not lead to death or at least to sanguinary combat if
overheard,--all these voluptuous images and romantic dangers decided
the young man.
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