The Tales of the Queen of Navarre have nothing absolutely out of keeping with this framework and design. Each story has a moral, a precept, either well or ill deduced; each is related to support some maxim, some theory, on the pre-eminence of one or other of the sexes, on the nature and essence of love, with examples or proofs (often very contestable) of what is advanced. Prudery apart, there is not much in these tales that is really charming. The subjects are those of the time. At moments we exclaim with Dame Oisille: “Good God! shall we never get out of these stories of monks?” We are made aware that even the honourable men and well-bred women of those days were contemporaries of Rabelais. However, it all turns to a good end. There is wit and subtlety in the discussions which serve as epilogue or prologue to the different tales. Most of the histories, being true, are without art, composition, or _dénouement_. The Queen of Navarre has been very little imitated in the tales and verses made since her day; in fact, she lends herself poorly to imitation. Only once does La Fontaine put her under contribution, but then in what is, as I think, the most piquant of her writings, namely: the tale of _La Servante justifiée_. In Marguerite’s story a merchant, a carpet-dealer, emancipates himself with another than his wife, and is discovered by a female neighbour. Fearing that the latter will gabble, the merchant, “who knew how to give any colour to carpets,” arranges matters in such a way that his wife is induced of her own accord to walk to the same place; so that when the gossiping neighbour comes to tell the wife what she has seen, the latter replies, “Hey! my crony, but that was I.” This “that was I” repeated many times and in varying tones, becomes comical, like the sayings of the farce called _Patelin_, or a scene of Regnard; there are, however, not many such sayings in Marguerite’s Tales.