HOWTHECHATEAUD\'AZAYCAMETOBEBUILT
Jehan，sonofSimonFourniez，calledSimonnin，acitizenofTours——
originallyofthevillageofMoulinot，neartoBeaune，whence，inimitationofcertainpersons，hetookthenamewhenhebecamestewardtoLouistheEleventh——hadtoflyonedayintoLanguedocwithhiswife，havingfallenintogreatdisgrace，andlefthissonJacquespennilessinTouraine。Thisyouth，whopossessednothingintheworldexcepthisgoodlooks，hissword，andspurs，butwhomworn-outoldmenwouldhaveconsideredverywelloff，hadinhisheadafirmintentiontosavehisfather，andmakehisfortuneatthecourt，thenholdeninTouraine。AtearlydawnthisgoodTourainianlefthislodging，and，envelopedinhismantle，allexcepthisnose，whichheleftopentotheair，andhisstomachempty，walkedaboutthetownwithoutanytroubleofdigestion。Heenteredthechurches，thoughtthembeautiful，lookedintothechapels，flickedthefliesfromthepictures，andcountedthecolumnsallafterthemannerofamanwhoknewnotwhattodowithhistimeorhismoney。Atothertimeshefeignedtorecitehispaternosters，butreallymademuteprayerstotheladies，offeredthemholywaterwhenleaving，followedthemafaroff，andendeavouredbytheselittleservicestoencountersomeadventure，inwhichattheperilofhislifehewouldfindforhimselfaprotectororagraciousmistress。Hehadinhisgirdletwodoubloonswhichhesparedfarmorethanhisskin，becausethatwouldbereplaced，butthedoubloonsnever。Eachdayhetookfromhislittlehoardthepriceofarollandafewapples，withwhichhesustainedlife，anddrankathiswillandhisdiscretionofthewateroftheLoire。Thiswholesomeandprudentdiet，besidesbeinggoodforhisdoubloons，kepthimfriskyandlightasagreyhound，gavehimaclearunderstandingandawarmheartforthewateroftheLoireisofallsyrupsthemoststrengthening，becausehavingitscourseafaroffitisinvigoratedbyitslongrun，throughmanystrands，beforeitreachesTours。Soyoumaybesurethatthepoorfellowimaginedathousandandonegoodfortunesandluckyadventures，andwhatismore，almostbelievedthemtrue。Oh！Thegoodtimes！OneeveningJacquesdeBeaunehekeptthenamealthoughhewasnotlordofBeaunewaswalkingalongtheembankment，occupiedincursinghisstarandeverything，forhislastdoubloonwaswithscantrespectuponthepointofquittinghim；whenatthecornerofalittlestreet，henearlyranagainstaveiledlady，whosesweetodourgratifiedhisamoroussenses。Thisfairpedestrianwasbravelymountedonprettypattens，woreabeautifuldressofItalianvelvet，withwideslashedsatinsleeves；whileasasignofhergreatfortune，throughherveilawhitediamondofreasonablesizeshoneuponherforeheadliketheraysofthesettingsun，amonghertresses，whichweredelicatelyrolled，builtup，andsoneat，thattheymusthavetakenhermaidsquitethreehourstoarrange。Shewalkedlikealadywhowasonlyaccustomedtoalitter。Oneofherpagesfollowedher，wellarmed。Shewasevidentlysomelighto\'lovebelongingtoanobleofhighrankoraladyofthecourt，sincesheheldherdresshighofftheground，andbentherbacklikeawomanofquality。LadyorcourtesanshepleasedJacquesdeBeaune，who，farfromturninguphisnoseather，conceivedthewildideaofattachinghimselftoherforlife。Withthisinviewhedeterminedtofollowherinordertoascertainwhithershewouldleadhim——toParadiseortothelimboofhell——toagibbetortoanabodeoflove。Anythingwasagleanofhopetohiminthedepthofhismisery。TheladystrolledalongthebankoftheLoiretowardsPlessisinhalinglikeafishthefinefreshnessofthewater，toying，saunteringlikealittlemousewhowishestoseeandtasteeverything。WhenthepageperceivedthatJacquesdeBeaunepersistentlyfollowedhismistressinallhermovements，stoppedwhenshestopped，andwatchedhertriflinginabare-facedfashion，asifhehadarightsotodo，heturnedbrisklyroundwithasavageandthreateningface，likethatofadogwhosesays，“Standback，sir！”
ButthegoodTourainianhadhiswitsabouthim。Believingthatifacatmaylookatking，he，abaptisedChristian，mightcertainlylookataprettywoman，hesteppedforward，andfeigningtogrinatthepage，hestruttednowbehindandnowbeforethelady。Shesaidnothing，butlookedatthesky，whichwasputtingonitsnightcap，thestars，andeverythingwhichcouldgiveherpleasure。Sothingswenton。Atlast，arrivedoutsidePortillon，shestoodstill，andinordertoseebetter，castherveilbackoverhershoulder，andinsodoingcastupontheyouththeglanceofacleverwomanwholooksroundtoseeifthereisanydangerofbeingrobbed。ImaytellyouthatJacquesdeBeaunewasathoroughladies\'man，couldwalkbythesideofaprincesswithoutdisgracingher，hadabraveandresoluteairwhichpleasethesex，andifhewasalittlebrownedbythesunfrombeingsomuchintheopenair，hisskinwouldlookwhiteenoughunderthecanopyofabed。Theglance，keenasaneedle，whichtheladythrewhim，appearedtohimmoreanimatedthanthatwithwhichshewouldhavehonouredherprayer-book。Uponithebuiltthehopeofawindfalloflove，andresolvedtopushtheadventuretotheveryedgeofthepetticoat，riskingtogostillfurther，notonlyhislips，whichheheldoflittlecount，buthistwoearsandsomethingelsebesides。Hefollowedintothetownthelady，whoreturnedbytheRuedesTrois-Pucelles，andledthegallantthroughalabyrinthoflittlestreets，tothesquareinwhichisatthepresenttimesituatedtheHoteldelaCrouzille。Thereshestoppedatthedoorofasplendidmansion，atwhichthepageknocked。Aservantopenedit，andtheladywentinandclosedthedoor，leavingtheSieurdeBeauneopen-mouthed，stupefied，andasfoolishasMonseigneurSt。Deniswhenhewastryingtopickuphishead。Heraisedhisnoseintheairtoseeifsometokenoffavourwouldbethrowntohim，andsawnothingexceptalightwhichwentupthestairs，throughtherooms，andrestedbeforeafinewindow，whereprobablytheladywasalso。Youcanbelievethatthepoorloverremainedmelancholyanddreaming，andnotknowingwhattodo。Thewindowgaveasuddencreakandbrokehisreverie。Fancyingthathisladywasabouttocallhim，helookedupagain，andbutforthefriendlyshelterofthebalcony，whichwasahelmettohim，hewouldhavereceivedastreamofwaterandtheutensilwhichcontainedit，sincethehandleonlyremainedinthegraspofthepersonwhodeliveredthedeluge。JacquesdeBeaune，delightedatthis，didnotlosetheopportunity，butflunghimselfagainstthewall，crying“Iamkilled，“withafeeblevoice。Thenstretchinghimselfuponthefragmentsofbrokenchina，helayasifdead，awaitingtheissue。Theservantsrushedoutinastateofalarm，fearingtheirmistress，towhomtheyhadconfessedtheirfault，andpickedupthewoundedman，whocouldhardlyrestrainhislaughteratbeingthencarriedupthestairs。
“Heiscold，“saidthepage。