nothing,
scarcely
daring
to
breathe
aloud
,
crouched
on
the
bare
pavement
mute
and
motionless
,
and
afraid
with
a
fear
that
was
the
sweetest
happiness
her
brief
youth
had
ever
known
.
Though
her
own
kind
had
neglected
and
proscribed
her
,
with
one
accord
,
there
had
been
enough
in
the
little
world
surrounding
her
to
feed
the
imaginative
senses
latent
in
her
,
—
enough
of
the
old
mediæval
fancy
,
of
the
old
ecclesiastical
beauty
,
of
the
old
monastic
spirit
,
to
give
her
a
consciousness
,
through
a
dumb
one
,
of
the
existence
of
art
.
Untaught
though
she
was
,
and
harnessed
to
the
dreary
mill‐wheel
round
of
a
hard
physical
toil
,
she
yet
had
felt
dimly
the
charm
of
the
place
in
which
she
dwelt
.
Where
the
fretted
pinnacles
rose
in
hundreds
against
the
sky
,
—
where
the
common
dwellings
of
the
poor
were
panelled
and
parquetted
and
carved
in
a
thousand
fashions
,
—
where
the
graceful
and
the
grotesque
and
the
terrible
were
mingled
in
an
inextricable
,
and
yet
exquisite
,
confusion
,
—
where
the
grey
squat
jug
that
went
to
the
well
,
and
the
jolting
beam
to
which
the
clothes’
line
was
fastened
,
and
the
creaking
sign
that
swung
above
the
smallest
wine‐shop
,
and
the
wooden
gallery
on
which
the
poorest
troll
hung
out
her
many‐coloured
rags
,
had
all
some
trace
of
a
dead
art
,
some
fashioning
by
a
dead
hand
,
—
where
all
these
were
,
it
was
not
possible
for
any
creature
dowered
by
nature
with
any
poetic
instinct
to
remain
utterly
unmoved
and
unawakened
in
their
midst
.
Of
the
science
and
the
execution
of
art
she
was
still
absolutely
ignorant
;
the
powers
by
which
it
was
created
still
seemed
a
magic
incomprehensible
,
and
not
human
;
but
its
meaning
she
felt
with
that
intensity
which
is
the
truest
homage
of
all
homage
to
its
influence
.
Day
after
day
,
therefore
,
she
returned
and
gazed
on
the
three
gods
of
forgetfulness
,
and
on
all
the
innumerable
forms
and
fables
which
bore
them
company
;
the
virgin
field
of
her
unfilled
mind
receiving
the
seeds
of
thought
and
of
fancy
that
were
scattered
so
largely
in
this
solitude
,
lying
waste
,
bearing
no
harvest
.
Of
these
visits
Arslàn
himself
knew
nothing
;
towards
him
her
bold
wild
temper
was
softened
to
the
shyness
of
a
doe
.
She
dreaded
lest
he
should
ever
learn
what
she
had
done
;
and
she
stole
in
and
out
of
the
old
granary
,
unseen
by
all
,
with
the
swiftness
and
the
stealthiness
which
she
shared
in
common
with
other
untamed
animals
which
,
like
her
,
shunned
all
man
and
woman
kind
.
And
this
secret
—
in
itself
so
innocent
,
yet
for
which
she
would
at
times
blush
in
her
loneliness
,
with
a
cruel
heat
that
burnt
over
all
her
face
and
frame
—
changed
her
life
,
transfigured
it
from
its
objectless
,
passionless
,
brutish
dulness
and
monotony
,
into
dreams
and
into
desires
.
For
the
first
time
she
had
in
her
joy
and
fear
;
for
the
first
time
she
became
human
.
All
the
week
through
he
wrought
perforce
by
night
;
the
great
windows
stood
wide
open
to
the
bright
cold
moons
of
early
spring
;
he
worked
only
with
black
and
white
using
colour
only
at
sunrise
,
or
on
the
rare
days
of
his
leisure
.
Often
at
nightfall
she
left
her
loft
,
as
secretly
as
a
fox
its
lair
,
and
stole
down
the
river
,
and
screened
herself
amongst
the
grasses
,
and
watched
him
where
he
laboured
in
the
mingling
light
of
the
moon
and
of
the
oil‐lamp
burning
behind
him
.
She
saw
these
things
grow
from
beneath
his
hand
,
these
mighty
shapes
created
by
him
;
and
he
seemed
to
her
like
a
god
,
with
the
power
to
beget
worlds
at
his
will
,
and
all
human
life
in
its
full
stature
out
from
a
little
dust
.
The
contrast
of
this
strength
,
of
this
power
which
he
wielded
,
with
the
helpless
exhaustion
of
the
body
in
which
she
had
found
him
dying
,
smote
her
with
a
sorrow
and
a
sweetness
that
were
like
nothing
she
had
ever
known
.
That
a
man
could
summon
hosts
at
his
command
like
this
,
yet
perish
for
a
crust
!
—
that
fusion
of
omnipotence
and
powerlessness
,
which
is
the
saddest
and
strangest
of
all
the
sad
strange
things
of
genius
,
awoke
an
absorbing
emotion
in
her
dormant
heart
!
She
watched
him
thus
for
hours
in
the
long
nights
of
a
slow‐footed
spring
,
in
whose
mists
and
chills
and
heavy
dews
her
inured
frame
took
no
more
harm
than
did
the
green
corn
shooting
through
the
furrows
.
She
was
a
witness
to
his
solitude
.
She
saw
the
fancies
of
his
brain
take
form
.
She
saw
the
sweep
of
his
arm
call
up
on
the
blank
of
the
wall
,
or
on
the
pale
spaces
of
the
canvas
,
these
images
which
for
her
had
alike
such
majesty
and
such
mystery
.
She
saw
the
faces
beam
,
the
eyes
smile
,
the
dancing‐women
rise
,
the
foliage
uncurl
,
the
gods
come
forth
from
the
temples
,
the
nereids
glide
through
the
moonlit
waters
,
at
his
command
,
and
beneath
his
touch
.
She
saw
him
also
in
those
moments
when
,
conceiving
no
eyes
to
be
upon
him
,
this
man
,
whom
mankind
denied
,
loosened
rein
to
the
bitterness
in
him
;
and
,
standing
weary
and
heartsick
before
these
creations
for
which
his
generation
had
no
sight
,
and
no
homage
,
let
the
agony
of
constant
failure
,
of
continual
defeat
,
overcome
him
,
and
cursed
aloud
the
madness
which
possessed
him
,
which
drove
him
on
for
ever
in
this
ungrateful
service
,
and
would
not
let
him
do
as
other
men
did
—
tell
the
world
lies
,
and
take
its
payment
out
in
gold
.
Until
now
she
had
hated
all
things
,
grieved
for
none
,
unless
,
indeed
,
it
were
for
a
galled
ox
toiling
wounded
and
tortured
on
the
field
;
or
a
trapped
bird
,
shrieking
in
the
still
midnight
woods
.
But
now
,
watching
him
,
hearing
him
,
a
passionate
sorrow
for
a
human
being
possessed
her
.
And
to
her
eyes
he
was
so
beautiful
in
that
utter
unlikeness
to
herself
and
to
all
men
whom
she
had
seen
.
She
gazed
at
him
,
never
weary
of
that
cold
,
fair
,
golden
beauty
,
like
the
beauty
of
his
sun‐god
;
of
those
serene
deep‐lidded
eyes
,
which
looked
so
often
past
her
at
the
dark
night
skies
;
of
those
lithe
and
massive
limbs
,
like
the
limbs
of
the
gladiator
that
yonder
on
the
wall
strained
a
lion
to
his
breast
in
the
deadly
embrace
of
combat
.
She
gazed
at
him
until
she
loved
him
with
the
intense
passion
of
a
young
and
ignorant
life
,
into
whose
gloom
no
love
had
ever
entered
.
With
this
love
the
instinct
of
her
womanhood
arose
,
amid
the
ignorance
and
savagery
of
her
nature
;
and
she
crouched
perpetually
under
the
screen
of
the
long
grass
to
hide
her
vigil
,
and
whenever
his
eyes
looked
from
his
easel
outward
to
the
night
she
drew
back
,
breathless
and
trembling
,
she
knew
not
why
,
into
the
deepest
shadow
.
Meantime
,
with
that
rude
justice
which
was
in
her
,
she
set
herself
atonement
for
her
fault
—
the
fault
through
which
those
tender
little
bright‐throated
birds
were
stretched
dead
amongst
the
first
violets
of
the
year
.
She
laboured
harder
and
longer
than
ever
for
her
task‐master
,
and
denied
herself
the
larger
half
of
even
those
scanty
portions
which
were
set
aside
for
her
of
the
daily
fare
,
living
on
almost
nothing
,
as
those
learn
to
do
who
are
reared
under
the
roof
of
the
French
poor
.
To
his
revilings
she
was
silent
,
and
under
his
blows
patient
.
By
night
she
toiled
secretly
,
until
she
had
restored
the
value
of
that
which
she
had
taken
.
Why
did
she
do
it
?
She
could
not
have
told
.
She
was
proud
of
the
evil
origin
they
gave
her
;
she
had
a
cynical
gladness
in
her
infamous
repute
;
she
scorned
women
and
hated
men
;
yet
all
the
same
she
kept
her
hands
pure
of
thefts
and
her
lips
pure
of
lies
.
So
the
weeks
went
on
till
the
hardness
of
winter
gave
way
to
the
breath
of
the
spring
,
and
in
all
the
wood
and
orchard
around
the
water‐mill
of
Yprès
the
boughs
were
green
with
buds
,
and
the
ground
was
pale
with
primroses
—
a
spring
all
the
sweeter
and
more
fertile
because
of
the
severity
of
the
past
winter
.
It
became
mid‐April
.
It
was
market‐day
for
all
the
country
lying
round
that
wondrous
cathedral‐spire
,
which
shot
into
the
air
far‐reaching
and
ethereal
,
like
some
fountain
whose
column
of
water
had
been
arrested
aloft
and
changed
to
ice
.
The
old
quiet
town
was
busy
,
with
a
rich
sunshine
shed
upon
it
,
in
which
the
first
yellow
butterflies
of
the
year
had
begun
to
dance
.
It
was
high
noon
,
and
the
highest
tide
of
the
market
.
Flower‐girls
,
fruit‐girls
,
egg‐sellers
,
poultry‐hucksters
,
crowds
of
women
,
old
and
young
,
had
jolted
in
on
their
docile
asses
,
throned
on
their
sheepskin
saddles
;
and
now
,
chattering
and
chaffering
,
drove
fast
their
trade
.
On
the
steps
of
the
cathedral
boys
with
birds’‐nests
,
knife‐grinders
making
their
little
wheels
fly
,
cobblers
hammering
,
with
boards
across
their
knees
,
travelling
pedlars
with
knapsacks
full
of
toys
and
mirrors
,
and
holy
images
,
and
strings
of
beads
,
sat
side
by
side
in
amicable
competition
.
Here
and
there
a
priest
passed
,
with
his
black
robe
and
broad
hat
,
like
a
dusky
mushroom
amongst
a
bed
of
many‐hued
gillyflowers
.
Here
and
there
a
soldier
,
all
colour
and
glitter
,
showed
like
a
gaudy
red
tulip
in
bloom
amidst
tufts
of
thyme
.
The
old
wrinkled
leathern
awnings
of
the
market
stalls
glowed
like
copper
in
the
brightness
of
noon
.
The
red
tiles
of
the
houses
edging
the
great
square
were
gilded
with
yellow
houseleeks
.
The
little
children
ran
hither
and
thither
with
big
bunches
of
primroses
or
sheaves
of
blue
wood
hyacinths
,
singing
.
The
red
and
blue
serges
of
the
young
girls’
bodices
were
like
the
gay
hues
of
the
anemones
in
their
baskets
.
The
brown
faces
of
the
old
dames
under
the
white
roofing
of
their
headgear
were
like
the
russet
faces
of
the
home‐kept
apples
which
they
had
garnered
through
all
the
winter
.
Everywhere
in
the
shade
of
the
flapping
leather
,
and
the
darkness
of
the
wooden
porches
,
there
were
the
tender
blossoms
of
the
field
and
forest
,
of
the
hedge
and
garden
.
The
azure
of
the
hyacinths
,
the
pale
saffron
of
the
primroses
,
the
cool
hues
of
the
meadow
daffodils
,
the
ruby
eyes
of
the
cultured
jonquils
,
gleamed
amongst
wet
rushes
,
grey
herbs
,
and
freshly
budded
leafage
.
Plovers’
eggs
nestled
in
moss‐lined
baskets
;
sheaves
of
velvet‐coated
wallflowers
poured
fragrance
on
the
air
;
great
plumes
of
lilac
nodded
on
the
wind
,
and
amber
feathers
of
laburnum
waved
above
the
homelier
masses
of
mint
and
marjoram
,
and
sage
and
chervil
.
It
was
high
noon
,
but
the
women
still
found
leisure
time
to
hear
the
music
of
their
own
tongues
,
loud
as
the
clacking
of
mill
paddles
.
In
one
corner
an
eager
little
group
was
gathered
round
the
stall
of
a
favourite
flower‐seller
,
who
wore
a
bright
crimson
gown
,
and
a
string
of
large
silver
beads
about
her
neck
,
and
a
wide
linen
cap
,
that
shaded
her
pretty
rosy
face
as
a
great
snowy
mushroom
may
grow
between
the
sun
and
a
little
ruddy
wild
strawberry
.
She
had
brown
eyes
that
were
now
brimming
over
with
tears
as
she
stood
surrounded
by
all
the
treasures
of
spring
.
She
held
clasped
in
her
arms
a
great
pot
with
a
young
almond
tree
growing
in
it
,
and
she
was
weeping
as
though
her
heart
would
break
,
because
a
tile
had
fallen
from
a
roof
above
and
crushed
low
all
its
pink
splendour
of
blossom
.
“
I
saw
her
look
at
it
,
”
she
muttered
.
“
Look
at
it
as
she
passed
with
her
wicked
eyes
;
and
a
black
cat
on
the
roof
mewed
to
her
;
and
at
that
moment
the
tile
fell
.
Oh
,
my
almond
tree
;
oh
,
my
little
darling
;
the
only
one
out
of
three
I
saved
through
the
frosts
;
the
very
one
that
was
to
have
gone
this
night
to
Paris
.
”
“
Thou
art
not
alone
,
Edmée
,
”
groaned
an
old
woman
,
tottering
from
her
nut‐stall
with
a
heap
of
ruffled
,
blood‐stained
,
brown
plumage
held
up
in
her
hand
.
“
Look
!
As
she
went
by
,
my
poor
brown
hen
—
the
best
sitter
I
have
,
good
for
eggs
with
every
sunrise
from
Lent
to
Noel
—
just
cackled
and
shook
her
tail
at
her
;
and
at
the
very
instant
a
huge
yellow
dog
rushed
in
and
killed
the
blessed
bird
—
killed
her
in
her
basket
!
A
great
yellow
beast
that
no
one
had
ever
seen
before
,
and
that
vanished
again
into
the
earth
like
lightning
.
”
“
Not
worse
than
she
did
to
my
precious
Rémy
,
”
said
a
tanner’s
wife
,
who
drew
after
her
,
clinging
to
her
skirts
,
a
little
lame
,
mis‐shapen
,
querulous
child
.
“
She
hath
the
evil
eye
,
”
said
an
old
decrepid
man
who
had
served
in
the
days
of
his
boyhood
in
the
Army
of
Italy
,
as
he
sat
washing
fresh
lettuces
in
a
large
brass
bowl
,
by
his
grandson’s
herb‐stall
.
“
You
remember
how
we
met
her
in
the
fields
last
Feast‐night
of
the
Three
Kings
?
”
asked
a
youth
looking
up
from
plucking
the
feathers
out
from
a
living
,
struggling
,
moaning
,
goose
.
“
Coming
singling
through
the
fog
,
like
nothing
earthly
;
and
a
moment
later
a
torch
caught
little
Jocelin’s
curls
and
burnt
him
till
he
was
so
hideous
that
his
mother
could
scarce
have
known
him
.
You
remember
?
”
“
Surely
we
remember
,
”
they
cried
in
a
hearty
chorus
round
the
broken
almond
tree
.
“
Was
there
not
the
good
old
Dax
this
very
winter
killed
by
her
if
ever
and
creature
were
killed
by
foul
means
,
though
the
law
would
never
listen
to
the
the
Flandrins
when
they
said
so
?
”
“
And
little
Bernardou
,
”
added
one
who
had
not
hitherto
spoken
.
“
Little
Bernardou
died
a
month
after
his
grandam
,
in
hospital
.
She
had
cast
her
eye
on
him
,
and
the
poor
little
lad
never
rallied
.
“
A
jettatrice
ever
brings
misfortune
,
”
muttered
the
old
soldier
of
Napoléon
,
washing
his
last
lettuce
and
lighting
a
fresh
pipe
.
“
Or
does
worse
,
”
muttered
the
mother
of
the
crippled
child
.
“
She
is
not
for
nothing
the
devil’s
daughter
,
mark
you
.
”
“
Nay
,
indeed
,
”
said
an
old
woman
,
knitting
from
a
ball
of
wool
with
which
a
kitten
played
amongst
the
strewn
cabbage
leaves
and
the
crushed
sweet‐smelling
thyme
.
“
Nay
,
was
it
not
only
this
very
winter
that
my
son’s
little
youngest
brother
threw
a
stone
at
her
,
just
for
luck
,
as
she
went
by
in
her
boat
through
the
town
;
and
it
stuck
her
and
drew
blood
from
her
shoulder
;
and
that
self‐same
night
a
piece
of
the
oaken
carvings
in
the
ceiling
gave
way
and
dropped
upon
the
little
angel
as
he
slept
,
and
broke
his
arm
above
the
elbow
:
—
she
is
a
witch
;
there
is
no
question
but
she
is
a
witch
.
”
“
If
I
were
sure
so
,
I
would
think
it
well
to
kill
her
,
”
murmured
the
youth
,
as
he
stifled
the
struggling
bird
between
his
knees
.
“
My
sister
met
her
going
through
the
standing
corn
last
harvest
time
,
and
the
child
she
brought
forth
a
week
after
was
born
blind
,
and
is
blind
now
,
”
said
a
hard‐visaged
woman
,
washing
turnips
in
a
brass
basin
of
water
.
“
I
was
black‐and‐blue
for
a
month
when
she
threw
me
down
and
took
from
me
that
hawk
I
had
trapped
;
and
she
went
and
fastened
my
wrist
in
the
iron
instead
,
”
hissed
a
boy
of
twelve
,
in
a
shrill
piping
treble
,
as
he
slit
the
tongue
of
a
quivering
starling
.
“
They
say
she
dances
naked
by
moonlight
in
the
water
with
imps
!
”
cried
a
bright
little
lad
who
was
at
play
with
the
kitten
.
“
She
is
a
witch
,
there
is
no
doubt
about
that
,
”
said
again
the
old
woman
who
sat
knitting
on
the
stone
bench
in
the
sun
.
“
And
her
mother
such
a
saint
!
”
sighed
another
old
dame
who
was
grouping
green
herbs
together
for
salads
.
And
all
the
while
the
girl
Edmée
clasped
her
almond
tree
and
sobbed
over
it
.
“
If
she
were
only
here
,
”
swore
Edmée’s
lover
,
under
his
breath
,
stealing
his
hand
where
the
silver
beads
lay
,
and
striving
his
best
to
console
her
.
At
that
moment
the
accused
came
towards
them
,
erect
in
the
full
light
.
She
had
passed
through
the
market
with
a
load
of
herbs
and
flowers
for
one
of
the
chief
hostelries
in
the
square
,
and
was
returning
with
the
flat
broad
basket
balanced
empty
on
her
head
.
Something
of
their
mutterings
and
curses
reached
her
,
but
she
neither
hastened
nor
slackened
her
pace
;
she
came
on
straightly
towards
them
with
her
firm
step
,
and
her
eyes
flashing
hard
against
the
sun
.
She
gave
no
sign
that
she
had
heard
except
that
the
blood
darkened
a
little
in
her
cheeks
,
and
her
mouth
shut
close
with
a
haughtier
scorn
.
But
the
sight
of
her
answering
in
that
instant
to
their
hate
,
the
sight
of
her
with
the
sunshine
on
her
scarlet
sash
and
her
slender
golden
limbs
,
added
impulse
to
their
rage
.
They
had
talked
themselves
into
a
passionate
belief
in
her
as
a
thing
hellborn
and
unclean
,
that
brought
all
manner
of
evil
fates
amongst
them
.
They
knew
that
holy
water
had
never
reached
her
;
that
a
church’s
door
had
never
opened
to
her
;
they
had
heard
their
children
hoot
her
many
a
time
unrebuked
,
they
had
always
hated
her
with
the
cruelty
begotten
by
a
timid
cowardice
or
a
selfish
dread
.
They
were
ripe
to
let
their
hate
take
shape
in
speech
and
act
.
The
lover
of
Edmée
loosened
his
hand
from
the
silver
beads
about
her
throat
,
and
caught
up
,
instead
,
a
stone
.
“
Let
us
see
if
her
flesh
feel
!
”
he
cried
,
and
cast
it
.
It
fell
short
of
her
,
being
ill‐aimed
;
she
did
not
slacken
her
speed
,
nor
turn
out
of
her
course
;
she
still
came
towards
them
erect
and
with
an
even
tread
.
“
Who
lamed
my
Rémy
?
”
screamed
the
cripple’s
mother
.
“
Who
broke
my
grandson’s
arm
?
”
cackled
the
old
woman
that
sat
knitting
.
“
Who
withered
my
peach‐tree
?
”
the
old
gardener
hooted
.
“
Who
freed
the
devil‐bird
and
put
me
on
the
trap
?
”
yelled
the
boy
with
the
starling
.
“
Who
flung
the
tile
on
the
almond
?
”
shouted
the
flower‐girl’s
lover
.
“
Who
made
my
sister
bring
forth
a
little
beast
,
blind
as
a
mole
?
”
shrieked
the
woman
,
washing
in
the
brazen
bowl
.
“
Who
is
a
witch
—
who
dances
naked
?
—
who
bathes
with
devils
at
the
full
moon
?
”
cried
the
youth
who
had
plucked
the
goose
bare
alive
;
and
he
stooped
for
a
pebble
,
and
aimed
better
than
his
comrade
,
and
flung
it
at
her
as
she
came
.
“
It
is
a
shame
to
see
the
child
of
Reine
Flamma
so
dealt
with
,
”
murmured
the
old
creature
that
was
grouping
her
salads
.
But
her
voice
found
no
echo
.
The
old
soldier
even
rebuked
her
.
“
A
jettatrice
should
be
killed
for
the
good
of
the
people
,
”
he
mumbled
.
Meanwhile
she
came
nearer
and
nearer
.
The
last
stone
had
struck
her
upon
the
arm
;
but
it
had
drawn
no
blood
;
she
walked
on
with
firm
,
slow
steps
into
their
midst
;
unfaltering
.
The
courage
did
not
touch
them
;
they
thought
it
only
the
hardihood
of
a
thing
that
was
devil‐begotten
.
“
She
is
always
mute
like
that
;
she
cannot
feel
.
Strike
,
strike
,
strike
!
”
cried
the
cripple’s
mother
;
and
the
little
cripple
himself
clapped
his
small
hands
and
screamed
his
shrill
laugh
.
The
youths
,
obedient
and
nothing
loth
,
rained
their
stones
on
her
as
fast
as
their
hands
could
fling
them
.
Still
she
neither
paused
nor
quailed
;
but
came
on
straightly
,
steadily
,
with
her
face
set
against
the
light
.
Their
impatience
and
their
eagerness
made
their
aim
uncertain
;
the
stones
fell
fast
about
her
on
every
side
,
but
one
alone
struck
her
—
a
jagged
flint
that
fell
where
the
white
linen
shirt
opened
on
her
chest
.
It
cut
the
skin
,
and
the
blood
started
;
the
children
shrieked
and
danced
with
delight
:
the
youths
rushed
at
her
inflamed
at
once
with
her
beauty
and
their
own
savage
hate
.
“
Stone
her
to
death
!
stone
her
to
death
!
”
they
shouted
;
she
only
laughed
,
and
held
her
head
erect
and
stood
motionless
where
they
arrested
her
,
without
the
blood
once
paling
in
her
face
or
her
eyes
once
losing
their
luminous
calm
scorn
.
The
little
cripple
clapped
his
hands
,
climbing
on
his
mother’s
back
to
see
the
sight
,
and
his
mother
screamed
again
and
again
above
his
laughter
.
“
Strike
!
strike
!
strike
!
”
One
of
the
elder
lads
seized
her
in
his
arms
to
force
her
on
her
knees
while
the
others
stoned
her
.
The
touch
of
him
roused
all
the
fire
slumbering
in
her
blood
.
She
twisted
herself
round
in
his
hold
with
a
movement
so
rapid
that
it
served
to
free
her
;
struck
him
full
on
the
eyes
with
her
clenched
hand
a
blow
that
sent
him
stunned
and
staggering
back
;
then
,
swiftly
as
lightning
flash
,
drew
her
knife
from
her
girdle
,
and
striking
out
with
it
right
and
left
,
dashed
through
the
people
,
who
scattered
from
her
path
as
sheep
from
the
spring
of
a
hound
.
Slowly
and
with
her
face
turned
full
upon
them
,
she
backed
her
way
across
the
market‐place
.
The
knife
,
turned
blade
outward
,
was
pressed
against
her
chest
.
None
of
them
dared
to
follow
her
;
they
thought
her
invulnerable
and
possessed
.
She
moved
calmly
with
a
firm
tread
backward
—
backward
—
backward
;
holding
her
foes
at
bay
;
the
scarlet
sash
on
her
loins
flashing
bright
in
the
sun
;
her
level
brows
bent
as
a
tiger
bends
his
ere
he
leaps
.
They
watched
her
,
huddling
together
frightened
and
silent
.
Even
the
rabid
cries
of
the
cripple’s
mother
had
ceased
.
On
the
edge
of
the
great
square
she
paused
a
moment
;
the
knife
still
held
at
her
chest
,
her
mouth
curled
in
contemptuous
laughter
.
“
Strike
now
!
”
she
cried
to
them
;
and
she
dropped
her
weapon
,
and
stood
still
.
But
there
was
not
one
amongst
them
who
dared
lift
his
hand
.
There
was
not
so
much
as
a
word
that
answered
her
.
She
laughed
aloud
,
and
waited
for
their
attack
,
while
the
bell
in
the
tower
above
them
tolled
loudly
the
strokes
of
noon
.
No
one
amongst
them
stirred
.
Even
the
shrill
pipe
of
the
lame
boy’s
rejoicing
had
sunk
,
and
was
still
.
At
that
moment
,
through
the
golden
haze
of
sunbeams
and
of
summer
dust
that
hung
above
the
crowd
,
she
saw
the
red
gleam
of
the
soldiers
of
the
state
;
and
their
heavy
tramp
echoed
on
the
silence
as
they
hastened
to
the
scene
of
tumult
.
She
had
no
faith
in
any
justice
which
these
would
deal
her
;
had
they
not
once
dragged
her
before
the
tribunal
of
their
law
when
she
had
forced
asunder
the
iron
jaws
of
that
trap
in
the
oak
wood
to
give
freedom
to
the
bleeding
hawk
that
was
struggling
in
it
whilst
its
callow
birds
screamed
in
hunger
in
their
nest
in
the
branches
above
?
She
had
no
faith
in
them
;
nor
in
any
justice
of
men
;
and
she
turned
and
went
down
a
twisting
lane
shaded
from
the
sun
,
and
ran
swiftly
as
a
doe
through
all
its
turns
,
and
down
the
steps
leading
to
the
water‐side
.
There
her
boat
was
moored
;
she
entered
it
and
pulled
herself
slowly
down
the
river
,
which
now
at
noontide
was
almost
deserted
,
whilst
the
shutters
of
the
houses
that
edged
it
on
either
side
were
all
closed
to
keep
out
the
sun
.
A
boatman
stretched
half
asleep
upon
the
sacks
in
his
barge
;
a
horse
dozing
in
his
harness
on
the
towing‐path
;
a
homeless
child
who
had
no
one
to
call
him
into
shelter
from
the
heat
,
and
who
sat
and
dappled
his
little
burning
feet
in
the
flowing
water
;
these
and
their
like
were
all
there
were
here
to
look
on
her
.
She
rowed
herself
feebly
,
with
one
oar
gradually
out
of
the
ways
of
the
town
;
her
left
arm
was
strained
,
and
,
for
the
moment
,
useless
;
her
shoulders
throbbed
with
bruises
;
and
the
wound
from
the
stone
still
bled
.
She
staunched
the
blood
by
degrees
,
and
folded
the
linen
over
it
,
and
went
on
;
she
was
so
used
to
pain
,
and
so
strong
,
that
this
seemed
to
her
to
be
but
little
.
She
had
passed
through
similar
scenes
before
,
though
the
people
had
rarely
broken
into
such
open
violence
towards
her
,
except
that
winter’s
day
in
the
hut
of
Manon
Dax
.
The
heat
was
great
,
though
the
season
was
but
mid‐April
.
The
sky
was
cloudless
;
the
air
without
a
breeze
.
The
white
blossoms
of
peach‐trees
bloomed
between
the
old
brown
walls
of
the
wooden
houses
.
In
the
galleries
,
between
the
heads
of
saints
and
the
faces
of
fauns
,
there
were
tufts
of
home‐bred
lilies
of
the
valley
and
thick
flowering
bushes
of
golden
genista
.
The
smell
of
mignonette
was
sweet
upon
the
languid
breeze
,
and
here
and
there
,
from
out
the
darkness
of
some
open
casement
,
some
stove‐forced
crimson
or
purple
azalea
shrub
glowed
;
for
the
people’s
merchandise
was
flowers
,
and
all
the
silent
water‐streets
were
made
lovely
and
fragrant
by
their
fair
abundance
.
The
tide
of
the
river
was
flowing
in
,
the
stream
was
swelling
over
all
the
black
piles
,
and
the
broad
smooth
strips
of
sand
that
were
visible
at
low
water
;
it
floated
her
boat
inward
with
it
without
trouble
,
past
the
last
houses
of
the
town
,
past
the
budding
orchards
and
grey
stone
walls
of
the
outskirts
,
past
the
meadows
and
the
corn‐fields
and
the
poplars
of
the
open
country
.
A
certain
faintness
had
stolen
on
her
with
the
gliding
of
the
vessel
and
the
dizzy
movement
of
the
water
;
pain
and
the
loss
of
blood
filled
her
limbs
with
an
unfamiliar
weakness
;
she
felt
giddy
,
and
half
blind
,
and
almost
powerless
to
guide
her
course
.
When
she
had
reached
the
old
granary
where
it
stood
amongst
the
waterdocks
and
rushes
,
she
checked
the
boat
almost
unconsciously
,
and
let
it
drift
in
amidst
the
reeds
and
lie
there
.
Then
she
pulled
herself
feebly
up
through
the
shallow
pools
,
and
across
the
stone
sill
of
the
casement
,
into
the
chamber
where
she
had
leaned
to
live
a
life
that
was
utterly
apart
from
the
actual
existence
to
which
chance
had
doomed
her
.
It
was
the
height
of
noon
;
at
such
an
hour
the
creator
of
these
things
she
loved
was
always
absent
at
the
toil
which
brought
him
his
daily
bread
;
she
knew
that
he
never
returned
until
the
evening
,
never
painted
except
at
earliest
dawn
.
The
place
was
her
own
in
the
freedom
of
solitude
;
all
these
shapes
and
shadows
in
which
imagination
and
tradition
had
taken
visible
shape
were
free
to
her
;
she
had
grown
to
love
them
with
a
great
passion
,
to
seek
them
as
consolers
and
as
friends
.
She
crept
into
the
room
;
its
coolness
,
its
calm
,
its
dimmed
refreshing
light
seemed
like
balm
after
the
noise
of
the
busy
market‐place
and
the
glare
of
the
cloudless
sunshine
.
A
sick
sense
of
fatigue
and
of
feebleness
had
assailed
her
more
strongly
.
She
dropped
down
in
the
gloom
of
the
place
on
the
broad
,
cold
flags
of
the
floor
,
in
the
deepest
shadow
,
where
the
light
from
without
did
not
reach
,
and
beneath
the
cartoon
of
the
Gods
of
Oblivion
.
Of
all
the
forms
with
which
he
had
people
its
loneliness
,
these
had
the
most
profound
influence
on
her
in
their
fair
,
passionless
,
majestic
beauty
,
in
which
it
seemed
to
her
that
the
man
who
had
begotten
them
had
repeated
his
own
likeness
.
For
they
were
all
alike
,
yet
unalike
;
of
the
same
form
and
feature
,
yet
different
even
in
their
strong
resemblance
,
like
elder
and
younger
brethren
who
hold
a
close
companionship
.
For
Hypnos
was
still
but
a
boy
with
his
blue‐veined
eyelids
closed
,
and
his
mouth
rosy
and
parted
like
that
of
a
slumbering
child
,
and
above
his
golden
head
a
star
rose
in
the
purple
night
.
Oneiros
standing
next
was
a
youth
whose
eyes
smiled
as
though
they
beheld
visions
that
were
welcome
to
him
;
in
his
hand
,
amongst
the
white
roses
,
he
held
a
black
wand
of
sorcery
,
and
around
his
bended
head
there
hovered
a
dim
silvery
nimbus
.
Thanatos
alone
was
a
man
full
grown
;
and
on
his
calm
and
colourless
face
there
were
blended
an
unutterable
sadness
,
and
an
unspeakable
peace
;
his
eyes
were
fathomless
,
far‐reaching
,
heavy
laden
with
thought
,
as
though
they
had
seen
at
once
the
heights
of
heaven
and
the
depths
of
hell
;
and
he
,
having
thus
seen
,
and
knowing
all
things
,
had
leaned
that
there
was
but
one
good
possible
in
all
the
universe
,
—
that
one
gift
which
his
touch
gave
,
and
which
men
in
their
blindness
shuddered
from
and
cursed
.
And
above
him
and
around
him
there
was
a
great
darkness
.
So
the
gods
stood
,
and
so
they
spoke
,
even
to
her
;
they
seemed
to
her
as
brethren
,
masters
,
friends
—
these
three
immortals
who
looked
down
on
her
in
their
mute
majesty
.
They
are
the
gods
of
the
poor
,
of
the
wretched
,
of
the
outcast
,
of
the
proscribed
,
—
they
are
the
gods
who
respect
not
persons
nor
palaces
,
—
who
stay
with
the
exile
and
flee
from
the
king
,
—
who
leave
the
tyrant
of
the
world
to
writhe
in
torment
,
and
call
a
smile
beautiful
as
the
morning
on
the
face
of
a
beggar
child
,
—
who
turn
from
the
purple
beds
where
wealth
and
lust
and
brutal
power
lie
,
and
fill
with
purest
visions
the
darkest
hours
of
the
loneliest
nights
,
for
genius
and
youth
,
—
they
are
the
gods
of
consolation
and
of
compensation
,
—
the
gods
of
the
exile
,
of
the
orphan
,
of
the
outcasts
,
of
the
poet
,
of
the
prophet
,
of
all
whose
bodies
ache
with
the
infinite
pangs
of
famine
,
and
whose
hearts
ache
with
the
infinite
woes
of
the
world
,
of
all
who
hunger
with
the
body
or
the
soul
.
And
looking
at
them
,
she
seemed
to
know
them
as
her
only
friends
,
—
as
the
only
rulers
who
ever
could
loose
the
bands
of
her
fate
and
lead
her
forth
to
freedom
—
Sleep
,
and
Dreams
,
and
Death
.
They
were
above
her
where
she
sank
upon
the
stone
floor
;
the
shadows
were
dark
upon
the
ground
;
but
the
sun
rays
striking
through
the
distant
window
against
the
opposite
wall
fell
across
the
head
of
the
boy
Hypnos
,
and
played
before
his
silver
sandalled
feet
.
She
sat
gazing
at
him
,
forgetful
of
her
woe
,
her
task
,
the
populace
that
had
hooted
her
abroad
,
the
stripes
that
awaited
her
at
home
.
The
answering
gaze
of
the
god
magnetised
her
;
the
poetic
virus
which
had
stirred
dumbly
in
her
from
her
birth
awoke
in
her
bewildered
brain
.
Without
knowing
what
she
wanted
,
she
longed
for
freedom
,
for
light
,
for
passion
,
for
peace
,
for
love
.
Shadowy
fancies
passed
over
her
in
a
tumultuous
pageantry
;
the
higher
instincts
of
her
nature
rose
and
struggle
to
burst
the
bonds
in
which
slavery
and
ignorance
and
brutish
toil
had
bound
them
;
she
knew
nothing
,
knew
no
more
than
the
grass
knew
that
blew
in
the
wind
,
than
the
passion‐flower
knew
that
slept
unborn
in
the
uncurled
leaf
;
and
yet
withal
she
felt
,
saw
,
trembled
,
imagined
,
and
desired
,
all
mutely
,
all
blindly
,
all
in
confusion
and
in
pain
.
For
the
second
time
the
weakness
of
tears
rushed
into
her
fearless
eyes
,
which
had
never
quailed
before
the
fury
of
any
living
thing
;
her
head
fell
on
her
chest
;
she
wept
bitterly
,
—
not
because
the
people
had
injured
her
,
—
not
because
her
wounded
flesh
ached
and
her
limbs
were
sore
,
—
but
because
a
distance
so
immeasurable
,
so
unalterable
,
severed
her
from
all
of
which
these
gods
told
her
without
speech
.
The
sun‐rays
still
shone
on
the
bright
head
of
Hypnos
,
while
the
stones
on
which
she
sat
,
and
her
own
form
,
were
dark
in
shadow
;
as
though
the
bright
boy
pitied
her
,
as
though
he
,
the
world’s
consoler
,
had
compassion
for
this
thing
so
lonely
and
accursed
of
her
kind
,
the
dumb
violence
of
her
weeping
brought
its
own
exhaustion
with
it
.
The
drowsy
heat
of
noon
,
pain
,
weariness
,
the
faintness
of
fasting
,
the
fatigue
of
conflict
,
the
dreamy
influences
of
that
place
,
had
their
weight
on
her
.
Crouching
there
half
on
her
knees
,
looking
up
ever
in
the
faces
of
the
three
Immortals
,
the
gift
of
Hypnos
descended
upon
her
and
stilled
her
;
its
languor
stole
through
her
veins
;
its
gentle
pressure
closed
her
eyelids
;
gradually
her
rigid
limbs
and
her
bent
body
relaxed
and
unnerved
;
she
sank
forward
,
her
head
lying
on
her
outstretched
arms
,
and
the
stillness
of
a
profound
sleep
encompassed
her
.
And
Oneiros
added
his
gift
also
;
and
a
throng
of
dim
,
delirious
dreams
floated
through
her
brain
,
and
peopled
her
slumber
with
fairer
things
than
the
earth
holds
,
and
made
her
mouth
smile
while
yet
her
lids
were
wet
.
Thanatos
alone
gave
nothing
,
but
looked
down
on
her
with
his
dark
,
sad
eyes
,
and
held
his
finger
on
his
close‐pressed
lips
,
as
though
he
said
:
—
“
Not
yet
.
”
CHAPTER
II
.
HER
sleep
remained
unbroken
;
there
was
no
sound
to
disturb
it
.
The
caw
of
a
rook
in
the
top
of
the
poplar‐tree
,
the
rushing
babble
of
the
water
,
the
cry
of
a
field‐mouse
caught
amongst
the
rushes
by
an
otter
,
the
far‐off
jingle
of
mules’
bells
from
the
great
southern
road
that
ran
broad
and
white
beyond
the
meadows
,
the
gnawing
of
the
rats
in
the
network
of
timbers
which
formed
the
vaulted
roof
,
these
were
all
the
noises
that
reached
this
solitary
place
,
and
these
were
both
too
faint
and
too
familiar
to
awaken
her
.
Heat
and
pain
made
her
slumber
heavy
,
and
the
forms
on
which
her
waking
eyes
had
gazed
made
her
sleep
full
of
dreams
.
Hour
after
hour
went
by
;
the
shadows
lengthened
,
the
day
advanced
:
nothing
came
to
rouse
her
.
At
length
the
vesper
bell
rang
over
the
pastures
and
the
peals
of
the
Ave
Maria
from
the
cathedral
in
the
town
were
audible
in
the
intense
stillness
that
reigned
around
.
As
the
chimes
died
,
Arslàn
crossed
the
threshold
of
the
granary
and
entered
the
desolate
place
where
he
had
made
his
home
.
For
once
his
labour
had
been
early
completed
,
and
he
had
hastened
to
employ
the
rare
and
precious
moments
of
the
remaining
light
.
He
had
almost
stepped
upon
her
ere
he
saw
her
,
lying
beneath
his
cartoons
of
the
sons
of
Nyx
.
He
paused
and
looked
down
.
Her
attitude
had
slightly
changed
,
and
had
in
it
all
the
abandonment
of
youth
and
of
sleep
;
her
face
was
turned
upward
,
with
quick
silent
breathings
parting
the
lips
;
her
bare
feet
were
lightly
crossed
;
the
linen
of
her
loose
tunic
was
open
at
the
throat
,
and
had
fallen
back
from
her
right
arm
and
shoulder
:
the
whole
supple
grace
and
force
that
were
mingled
in
her
form
were
visible
under
the
light
folds
of
her
simple
garments
.
The
sun
still
lingered
on
the
bright
bowed
head
of
Hypnos
,
but
all
light
had
died
from
off
the
stone
floor
where
she
was
stretched
.
As
she
had
once
looked
on
himself
,
so
he
now
looked
on
her
.
But
in
him
there
arose
little
curiosity
and
still
less
pity
;
he
recognized
her
as
the
girl
whom
,
with
the
face
of
old
Egypt
,
he
had
seen
rowing
her
boat‐load
of
corn
down
the
river
,
and
whom
he
had
noticed
for
her
strange
unlikeness
to
all
around
her
.
He
supposed
that
mere
curiosity
had
brought
her
there
,
and
sleep
overtaken
her
in
the
drowsiness
of
the
first
heat
of
the
budding
year
.
He
did
not
seek
to
rouse
her
,
nor
to
spare
her
any
shame
or
pain
which
at
her
waking
,
she
might
feel
.
He
merely
saw
in
her
a
barbaric
and
yet
beautiful
creature
;
and
his
only
desire
was
to
use
the
strange
charms
in
her
for
his
art
.
A
smooth‐planed
panel
stood
on
an
easel
near
;
turning
it
where
best
the
light
fell
,
he
began
to
sketch
her
attitude
rapidly
,
in
black
and
white
.
It
was
quickly
done
by
a
hand
so
long
accustomed
to
make
such
transcripts
;
and
he
soon
went
further
to
that
richer
portraiture
which
colour
alone
can
accomplish
.
The
stone
pavement
;
the
brown
and
slender
limbs
;
the
breadth
of
scarlet
given
by
the
sash
about
her
loins
;
the
upturned
face
,
whose
bloom
was
as
brilliant
as
that
of
a
red
carnation
blooming
in
the
twilight
of
some
old
wooden
gallery
;
the
eyelids
,
tear‐laden
still
;
the
mouth
that
smiled
and
sighed
in
dreaming
;
on
the
wall
above
,
the
radiant
figure
of
the
young
god
which
remained
in
full
sunlight
whilst
all
beneath
was
dark
;
—
these
gave
a
picture
which
required
no
correction
from
knowledge
,
no
addition
from
art
.
He
worked
on
for
more
than
an
hour
,
until
the
wood
began
to
beam
with
something
of
the
hues
of
flesh
and
blood
,
and
the
whole
head
was
thrown
out
in
colour
,
although
the
body
and
the
limbs
still
remained
in
their
mere
outline
.
Once
or
twice
she
moved
restlessly
,
and
muttered
a
little
,
dully
,
as
though
the
perpetual
unsparing
gaze
bent
on
her
with
a
scrutiny
so
cold
,
and
yet
so
searching
,
disturbed
or
magnetized
her
even
in
her
sleep
.
But
she
never
awakened
,
and
he
had
time
to
study
and
to
trace
every
curve
and
line
of
the
half‐developed
loveliness
before
him
with
as
little
as
pity
,
with
as
cruel
an
exactitude
,
as
that
with
which
the
vivisector
tears
asunder
the
living
animal
whose
sinews
he
severs
,
or
the
botanist
plucks
to
pieces
the
new‐born
flower
whose
structures
he
desires
to
examine
.
The
most
beautiful
women
,
who
had
bared
their
charms
that
the
might
see
them
live
again
upon
his
canvas
,
had
seldom
had
power
to
make
his
hand
tremble
a
moment
in
such
translation
.
To
the
surgeon
all
sex
is
dead
,
all
charm
is
gone
from
the
female
corpse
that
his
knife
ravages
in
search
of
the
secrets
of
science
;
and
to
Arslàn
the
women
whom
he
modelled
and
pourtrayed
were
nearly
as
sexless
,
nearly
as
powerless
to
create
passion
or
emotion
.
They
were
the
tools
of
his
art
;
no
more
.
When
,
in
the
isolation
of
the
long
northern
winters
,
he
had
sat
beside
the
pine‐wood
that
blazed
on
his
hearth
while
the
wolves
howled
down
the
deserted
village
street
,
and
the
snow
drifted
up
and
blocked
from
sight
the
last
pane
of
the
lattice
and
the
last
glimpse
of
the
outer
world
,
he
had
been
more
enamoured
of
the
visions
that
visited
him
in
that
solitude
than
he
had
ever
been
since
of
the
living
creatures
whose
beauty
he
recorded
in
his
works
.
He
had
little
passion
in
him
,
or
passion
was
dormant
;
and
he
had
sought
women
,
even
in
the
hours
of
love
,
with
coldness
and
with
something
of
contempt
for
that
licence
which
,
in
the
days
of
his
comparative
affluence
,
he
had
not
denied
himself
.
He
thought
always
—
De
ces
basiers
puissants
comme
un
dictame
,
De
ces
transports
plus
vifs
que
des
rayons
,
Que
reste‐t‐il
?
C’est
affruex
,
ô
mon
âme
!
Rien
qu’un
dessin
fort
pâle
aux
trois
crayons
.
”
And
for
those
glowing
colours
of
passion
which
burned
so
hotly
for
an
instant
,
only
so
soon
to
fade
out
into
the
pallor
of
indifference
or
satiety
,
he
had
a
contempt
which
almost
took
the
place
and
the
semblance
of
chastity
.
He
worked
on
and
on
,
studying
the
sleeper
at
his
feet
,
with
the
passionless
keenness
of
a
science
that
was
as
merciless
in
its
way
as
the
science
which
tortures
and
slaughters
in
order
to
penetrate
the
mysteries
of
sentient
existence
.
She
was
beautiful
in
her
way
,
this
dark
strange
foreign
child
,
who
looked
as
though
her
native
home
must
have
been
where
the
Nile
lily
blooms
,
and
the
black
brows
of
the
Sphinx
are
bent
against
the
sun
.
She
was
beautiful
,
like
a
young
leopard
,
like
a
young
python
,
coiled
there
,
lightly
breathing
,
and
mute
and
motionless
and
unconscious
.
He
painted
her
as
he
would
have
painted
the
leopard
or
python
lying
asleep
in
the
heavy
hush
of
a
noon
in
the
tropics
.
And
she
was
no
more
to
him
than
these
would
have
been
.
The
shadows
grew
longer
;
the
sunlight
died
off
the
bright
head
of
the
boy
Hypnos
;
the
feathery
reeds
on
the
bank
without
got
a
red
flush
from
the
west
;
there
came
a
sudden
burst
of
song
from
a
boat‐load
of
children
going
home
from
the
meadows
where
they
had
gathered
the
first
cowslips
of
the
season
in
great
sheaves
that
sent
their
sweetness
on
the
air
though
the
open
window
as
they
went
by
beneath
the
walls
.
The
shouts
of
the
joyous
singing
rang
shrilly
through
the
silence
;
they
pierced
her
ear
and
startled
her
from
her
slumber
;
she
sprang
up
suddenly
,
with
a
bound
like
a
hart
that
scents
the
hounds
,
and
stood
fronting
him
;
her
eyes
opened
wide
,
her
breath
panting
,
her
nerves
strained
to
listen
and
striving
to
combat
.
In
the
first
bewildered
instant
of
her
awakening
she
0
thought
that
she
was
still
in
the
market‐place
of
the
town
and
that
the
shouts
were
from
the
clamour
of
her
late
tormenters
.
He
turned
and
looked
at
her
.
“
What
do
you
fear
?
”
he
asked
her
,
in
the
tongue
of
the
country
.
She
started
afresh
at
the
sound
of
his
voice
,
and
drew
her
disordered
dress
together
,
and
stood
mute
,
with
her
hands
crossed
on
her
bosom
,
and
the
blood
coming
and
going
under
her
transparent
skin
.
“
What
do
you
fear
?
”
he
asked
again
.
“
I
fear
?
”
She
echoed
his
cowardly
word
with
a
half‐tremulous
defiance
;
the
heroism
of
her
nature
,
which
an
hour
earlier
had
been
lashed
to
its
fullest
strength
,
cast
back
the
question
as
an
insult
;
but
her
voice
was
low
and
husky
,
and
the
blood
dyed
her
face
scarlet
as
she
spoke
.
For
she
feared
him
;
and
for
the
moment
she
had
forgotten
how
she
had
come
there
and
all
that
had
passed
,
except
that
some
instinct
of
the
long‐hunted
animal
was
astir
in
her
to
hide
herself
and
fly
.
But
he
stood
between
her
and
the
passage
outward
,
and
pride
and
shame
held
her
motionless
.
Moreover
,
she
still
listened
intently
:
the
confused
voices
of
the
children
still
seemed
to
her
like
those
of
the
multitude
by
whom
she
had
been
chased
;
and
she
was
ready
to
leap
tiger‐like
upon
them
,
rather
than
let
them
degrade
her
in
his
sight
.
He
looked
at
her
with
some
touch
of
interest
:
she
was
to
him
only
some
stray
beggar
girl
,
who
had
trespassed
into
his
solitude
;
yet
there
was
that
in
her
untamed
regard
,
in
her
wide
open
eyes
,
in
the
stag‐like
grace
of
her
attitude
,
in
the
sullen
strength
which
spoke
in
her
reply
,
that
warmed
him
to
closer
notice
of
all
these
.
“
Why
are
you
in
this
place
?
”
he
asked
her
,
slowly
.
“
You
were
asleep
here
when
I
came
,
more
than
an
hour
ago
.
”
The
colour
burned
in
her
face
;
she
said
nothing
.
The
singing
of
the
children
was
waxing
fainter
,
as
the
boat
floated
from
beneath
the
wall
on
its
homeward
way
into
the
town
.
She
ceased
to
fancy
these
cries
the
cries
of
her
foes
,
and
recollection
began
to
revive
in
her
.
“
Why
did
you
come
?
”
he
repeated
,
musing
how
he
should
persuade
her
to
return
to
the
attitude
sketched
out
upon
the
easel
.
She
returned
his
look
with
the
bold
truthfulness
natural
to
her
,
joined
with
that
apprehensiveness
of
chastisement
which
becomes
second
nature
to
every
creature
that
is
for
ever
censured
,
cursed
,
and
beaten
for
every
real
or
imagined
fault
.
“
I
came
to
see
those
,
”
she
answered
him
,
with
a
backward
movement
of
her
hand
,
which
had
a
sort
of
reverence
in
it
,
up
to
the
forms
of
the
gods
above
her
.
The
answer
moved
him
;
he
had
not
thought
to
find
a
feeling
so
high
as
this
in
this
ragged
,
lonely
,
sunburnt
child
;
and
,
to
the
man
for
whom
,
throughout
a
youth
of
ambition
and
of
disappointment
,
the
world
had
never
found
the
voice
of
favour
,
even
so
much
appreciation
as
lay
in
this
outcast’s
homage
had
its
certain
sweetness
.
For
a
man
may
be
negligent
of
all
sympathy
for
himself
,
yet
never
,
if
he
be
poet
or
artist
,
will
he
be
able
utterly
to
teach
himself
indifference
to
all
sympathy
for
his
works
.
“
Those
!
”
he
echoed
,
in
surprise
.
“
What
can
they
be
to
you
?
”
She
coloured
at
the
unconcealed
contempt
that
lay
in
his
last
word
;
her
head
drooped
;
she
knew
that
they
were
much
to
her
—
friends
,
masters
,
teachers
divine
and
full
of
pity
.
But
she
had
no
language
in
which
to
tell
him
this
;
and
if
she
could
have
told
him
,
she
would
have
been
ashamed
.
Also
,
the
remembrance
of
those
benefits
to
him
,
of
which
he
was
ignorant
,
had
now
come
to
her
through
the
bewilderment
of
her
thoughts
,
and
it
locked
her
lips
to
silence
.
Her
eyes
dropped
under
his
;
the
strange
love
she
bore
him
made
her
blind
and
giddy
and
afraid
;
she
moved
restlessly
,
glaring
round
with
the
half‐timid
,
half‐fierce
glances
of
a
wild
animal
that
desires
to
escape
and
cannot
.
Watching
her
more
closely
,
he
noticed
for
the
first
time
the
stains
of
blood
upon
her
shoulder
,
and
the
bruise
on
her
chest
,
where
the
rent
in
her
linen
left
it
bare
.
“
You
have
been
hurt
?
”
he
asked
her
,
“
or
wounded
?
”
She
shook
her
head
.
“
It
is
nothing
.
”
“
Nothing
?
You
have
fallen
or
been
ill
treated
,
surely
?
”
“
The
people
struck
me
.
”
“
Struck
you
?
With
what
?
”
“
Stones
.
”
“
And
why
?
”
“
I
am
Folle‐Farine
.
”
She
answered
him
with
the
quiet
calm
of
one
who
offers
an
all‐sufficient
reply
.
But
the
reply
to
him
told
nothing
:
he
had
been
too
shunned
by
the
populace
,
who
dreaded
the
evil
genius
which
they
attributed
to
him
,
to
have
been
told
by
them
of
their
fancies
and
follies
;
and
he
had
never
essayed
to
engage
either
their
companionship
or
their
confidence
.
To
be
left
to
work
,
or
to
die
,
in
solitude
undisturbed
was
the
uttermost
that
he
had
ever
asked
of
any
strange
people
amidst
whom
he
had
dwelt
.
“
Because
you
are
Folle‐Farine
?
”
he
repeated
.
“
Is
that
a
reason
to
hate
you
?
”
She
gave
a
gesture
of
assent
.
“
And
you
hate
them
in
return
?
”
She
paused
a
moment
,
glancing
still
hither
and
thither
all
round
,
as
a
trapped
bird
glances
,
seeking
his
way
outward
.
“
I
think
so
,
”
she
muttered
;
“
and
yet
—
I
have
had
their
little
children
in
my
reach
,
many
a
time
by
the
water
when
the
woods
were
all
quiet
,
and
I
have
never
killed
one
yet
.
”
He
looked
at
her
more
earnestly
than
he
had
done
before
.
The
repressed
passion
that
glanced
under
her
straight
dusky
brows
,
the
unspoken
scorn
which
curled
on
her
mouth
,
the
nervous
meaning
with
which
her
hands
clenched
on
the
folds
of
linen
on
her
breast
,
attracted
him
;
there
was
a
force
in
them
all
which
aroused
his
attention
.
There
were
in
her
that
conscious
power
for
ferocity
,
and
that
contemptuous
abstinence
from
its
exercise
,
which
lie
so
often
in
the
fathomless
regard
of
the
lion
;
he
moved
nearer
to
her
,
and
addressed
her
more
gently
.
“
Who
are
you
?
”
he
asked
,
“
and
why
have
these
people
such
savage
violence
against
you
?
”
“
I
am
Folle‐Farine
,
”
she
answered
him
again
,
unable
to
add
anything
else
.
“
Have
you
no
other
name
?
”
“
No.
”
“
But
you
must
have
a
home
?
You
live
—
where
?
”
“
At
the
mill
with
Flamma
.
”
“
Does
he
also
ill‐use
you
?
”
“
He
beats
me
.
”
“
When
you
do
wrong
?
”
She
was
silent
.
“
Wrong
?
”
“
Right
?
”
They
were
but
words
to
her
—
empty
and
meaningless
.
She
knew
that
he
beat
her
more
often
because
she
told
truth
or
refused
to
cheat
.
For
aught
that
she
was
sure
of
,
she
might
be
wrong
,
and
he
right
.
Arslàn
looked
at
her
musingly
.
All
the
thought
he
had
was
to
induce
her
to
return
to
the
attitude
necessary
to
the
completion
of
his
picture
.
He
put
a
few
more
questions
to
her
;
but
the
replies
told
him
little
.
At
all
times
silent
,
before
him
a
thousand
emotions
held
her
dumb
.
She
was
afraid
,
besides
,
that
at
every
word
he
might
suspect
the
debt
he
owed
to
her
,
and
she
dreaded
its
avowal
with
as
passionate
a
fear
as
though
,
in
lieu
of
the
highest
sacrifice
and
service
,
her
action
had
been
some
crime
against
him
.
She
felt
ashamed
of
it
,
as
of
some
unholy
thing
;
it
seemed
to
her
impious
to
have
dared
to
give
him
back
a
life
that
he
had
wearied
of
,
and
might
have
wished
to
lose
.
“
He
must
never
know
:
he
must
never
know
,
”
she
said
to
herself
.
She
had
never
imagined
what
fear
meant
until
she
had
looked
on
this
man’s
face
.
Now
she
dreaded
,
with
an
apprehension
which
made
her
start
like
a
criminal
at
every
sound
,
lest
he
should
ever
know
of
this
gift
of
life
which
,
unbidden
,
she
had
restored
to
him
:
which
,
being
thus
given
,
her
instinct
told
her
he
would
only
take
as
the
burden
of
an
intolerable
debt
,
of
an
unmeasurable
shame
.
Perfect
love
casts
out
fear
,
runs
the
tradition
;
rather
,
surely
,
does
the
perfect
love
of
a
woman
break
the
courage
which
no
other
thing
could
ever
daunt
,
and
set
foot
on
the
neck
that
no
other
yoke
would
ever
touch
.
By
slow
degrees
he
got
from
her
such
fragments
of
her
obscure
story
as
she
knew
.
That
this
child
,
so
friendless
,
ill‐treated
,
and
abandoned
,
had
been
the
saviour
of
his
own
existence
,
he
never
dreamed
.
A
creature
beaten
and
half
starved
herself
could
not
,
for
an
instant
,
look
to
him
one
likely
to
have
possessed
even
such
humble
gifts
as
food
and
fuel
.
Besides
,
his
thoughts
were
less
with
her
than
with
the
interrupted
study
on
his
easel
,
and
his
one
desire
was
to
induce
her
to
endure
the
same
watch
upon
her
,
waking
,
which
had
had
power
to
disturb
her
even
in
her
unconsciousness
.
She
was
nothing
to
him
,
save
a
thing
that
he
wished
to
turn
to
the
purpose
of
his
art
—
like
a
flower
that
he
plucked
on
his
way
through
the
fields
,
for
the
sake
of
its
colour
,
to
fill
in
some
vacant
nook
in
a
mountain
foreground
.
“
You
have
come
often
here
?
”
he
asked
her
,
whilst
she
stood
before
him
,
flushing
and
growing
pale
,
irresolute
and
embarrassed
,
with
her
hands
nervously
gathering
the
folds
of
her
dress
across
her
chest
,
and
her
sad
,
lustrous
,
troubled
eyes
glancing
from
side
to
side
in
a
bewildered
fear
.
“
Often
,
”
she
muttered
.
“
You
will
not
beat
me
for
it
?
I
did
no
harm
.
”
“
Beat
you
?
Amongst
what
brutes
have
you
lived
?
Tell
me
,
why
did
you
care
to
come
?
”
Her
face
dropped
.
“
They
are
beautiful
,
and
they
speak
to
me
,
”
she
murmured
,
with
a
pathetic
,
apologetic
timidity
in
her
voice
.
He
laughed
a
little
;
bitterly
.
“
Do
they
?
They
have
few
auditors
.
But
you
are
beautiful
,
too
,
in
your
way
.
Has
no
one
ever
told
you
so
?
”
“
I
?
”
She
glanced
at
him
half‐wistfully
,
half‐despairingly
;
she
thought
that
he
spoke
in
derision
of
her
.
“
You
,
”
he
answered
.
“
Why
not
?
Look
at
yourself
here
:
all
imperfect
as
it
is
,
you
can
see
something
of
what
you
are
.
Her
eyes
fell
for
the
first
time
on
the
broad
confused
waves
of
dull
colour
,
out
of
whose
depths
her
own
face
arose
,
like
some
fair
drowned
thing
tossed
upward
on
a
murky
sea
.
She
started
with
a
cry
as
if
he
had
wounded
her
,
and
stood
still
trembling
.
She
had
looked
at
her
own
limbs
floating
in
the
opaque
water
of
the
bathing
pool
,
with
a
certain
sense
of
their
beauty
wakening
in
her
;
she
had
tossed
the
soft
,
thick
,
gold‐flecked
darkness
of
her
hair
over
her
bare
shoulder
,
with
a
certain
languor
and
delight
;
she
had
held
a
knot
of
poppies
against
her
breast
,
to
see
their
hues
contrast
with
her
own
white
skin
;
—
but
she
had
never
imagined
that
she
had
beauty
.
He
watched
her
,
letting
the
vain
passion
he
thus
taught
her
creep
with
all
its
poison
into
her
veins
.
He
had
seen
such
wonder
and
such
awed
delight
before
in
Nubian
girls
with
limbs
of
bronze
and
eyes
of
night
,
who
had
never
thought
that
they
had
loveliness
—
though
