,at
night
,
a
vagrant
tried
to
rob
her
,
having
watched
her
count
the
gold
and
notes
which
she
carried
in
her
girdle
.
He
dragged
her
to
a
lonely
place
,
and
snatched
at
the
red
sash
,
grasping
the
money
with
it
;
but
she
was
too
quick
for
him
,
and
beat
him
off
in
such
a
fashion
that
he
slunk
away
limping
,
and
told
his
fellows
to
beware
of
her
;
for
she
had
the
spring
of
a
cat
,
and
the
stroke
of
a
swan’s
wing
.
On
the
whole
,
the
world
seemed
better
to
her
than
it
had
done
:
the
men
were
seldom
insolent
,
taking
warning
from
the
look
in
her
flashing
eyes
and
the
straight
carriage
of
her
flexible
frame
;
and
the
women
more
than
once
were
kind
.
Many
peasants
passed
her
on
their
market‐mules
,
and
many
carriers’
carts
and
farm‐waggons
went
by
along
the
sunny
roads
.
Sometimes
their
drivers
called
to
her
to
get
up
,
and
gave
her
a
lift
of
a
league
or
two
on
their
piles
of
grass
,
or
straw
,
or
amongst
their
crates
of
cackling
poultry
,
as
they
made
their
slow
way
between
the
lines
of
the
trees
,
with
their
horses
nodding
heavily
under
the
weight
of
their
uncouth
harness
.
All
this
while
she
never
touched
the
gold
that
he
had
given
her
.
Very
little
food
sufficed
to
her
:
she
had
been
hardly
reared
;
and
for
the
little
she
had
she
worked
always
,
on
her
way
.
A
load
carried
,
a
lost
sheep
fetched
in
,
some
wood
hewn
and
stacked
,
a
crying
calf
fed
,
a
cabbage‐patch
dug
or
watered
,
these
got
her
the
simple
fare
which
she
fed
on
;
and
for
lodging
she
was
to
none
indebted
,
preferring
to
lie
down
by
the
side
of
the
cows
in
their
stalls
,
or
under
a
stack
against
some
little
blossoming
garden
.
The
people
had
no
prejudice
against
her
:
she
found
few
foes
,
when
she
had
left
the
district
that
knew
the
story
of
Reine
Flamma
;
they
were
,
on
the
contrary
,
amused
with
her
strange
picture‐like
look
,
and
awed
with
the
sad
brevity
of
her
speech
to
them
.
Sometimes
it
chanced
to
her
to
get
no
tasks
of
any
sort
to
do
,
and
at
these
times
she
went
without
food
:
touch
his
gold
she
would
not
.
On
the
road
she
did
what
good
she
could
;
she
walked
a
needless
league
to
carry
home
a
child
who
had
broken
his
leg
in
a
lonely
lane
;
she
sought
,
in
a
foggy
night
,
for
the
straying
goat
of
a
wretched
woman
;
she
saved
an
infant
from
the
flames
in
a
little
cabin
burning
in
the
midst
of
the
green
fields
:
she
did
what
came
in
her
path
to
do
.
For
her
heart
was
half
broken
;
and
this
was
her
way
of
prayer
.
So
,
by
tedious
endeavour
,
she
won
her
passage
wearily
towards
Paris
.
She
had
been
nine
days
on
the
road
,
losing
her
way
at
times
,
and
having
often
wearily
to
retrace
her
steps
.
On
the
tenth
day
she
came
to
a
little
town
lying
in
a
green
hollow
amidst
woods
.
It
had
an
ancient
church
;
the
old
sweet
bells
were
ringing
a
last
midday
mass
;
a
crumbling
fortress
of
the
Angevine
kings
gave
it
majesty
and
shadow
;
it
was
full
of
flowers
and
of
trees
,
and
had
quaint
,
quiet
,
grey
streets
,
hilly
and
shady
,
that
made
her
think
of
the
streets
round
about
the
cathedral
of
her
mother’s
birthplace
,
away
north‐westward
in
the
white
sea‐mists
.
When
she
entered
it
,
noon
had
just
sounded
from
all
its
many
clocks
and
chimes
.
The
weather
was
hot
,
and
she
was
very
tired
.
She
had
not
eaten
any
food
,
save
some
berries
and
green
leaves
,
for
more
than
forty
hours
.
She
had
been
refused
anything
to
do
in
all
places
;
and
she
had
no
money
—
except
that
gold
of
his
.
There
was
a
little
tavern
,
vine‐shaded
,
and
bright
with
a
late‐flowering
rose
that
hid
its
casements
.
She
asked
there
,
timidly
,
if
there
were
any
task
she
might
do
,
—
to
fetch
water
,
to
sweep
,
to
break
wood
,
to
drive
or
to
stable
a
mule
or
a
horse
?
They
took
her
to
be
a
gipsy
;
they
ordered
her
roughly
to
be
gone
.
Through
the
square
window
she
could
see
food
—
a
big
juicy
melon
cut
in
halves
,
sweet
yellow
cakes
,
warm
and
crisp
from
the
oven
,
a
white
chicken
,
cold
and
dressed
with
cresses
,
a
jug
of
milk
,
an
abundance
of
bread
.
And
her
hunger
was
very
great
.
Nine
days
of
sharper
privation
than
even
that
to
which
she
had
been
inured
in
the
penury
of
Yprès
had
made
her
cheeks
hollow
and
her
limbs
fleshless
;
and
a
continual
consuming
heat
and
pain
gnawed
at
her
chest
.
She
sat
on
a
bench
that
was
free
to
all
wayfarers
,
and
looked
at
the
food
in
the
tavern‐kitchen
.
It
tempted
her
with
the
animal
ravenousness
begotten
by
long
fast
.
She
wanted
to
fly
at
it
as
a
starved
dog
flies
.
A
rosy‐faced
woman
cut
up
the
chicken
on
a
china
dish
,
singing
.
Folle‐Farine
,
outside
,
looked
at
her
,
and
took
courage
from
her
smiling
face
.
“
Will
you
give
me
a
little
work
?
”
she
murmured
.
“
Anything
—
anything
—
so
that
I
may
get
bread
.
”
“
You
are
a
gipsy
,
”
answered
the
woman
,
ceasing
to
smile
.
“
Go
to
your
own
folk
.
”
And
she
would
not
offer
her
even
a
plate
of
broken
victuals
.
Folle‐Farine
rose
and
walked
wearily
away
.
She
could
not
bear
the
sight
of
the
food
;
she
felt
that
if
she
looked
at
it
longer
she
would
spring
on
it
like
a
wolf
.
But
to
use
his
gold
never
occurred
to
her
.
She
would
have
bitten
her
tongue
through
in
famine
ere
she
would
have
taken
one
coin
of
it
.
As
she
went
,
being
weak
from
long
hunger
and
the
stroke
of
the
sun‐rays
,
she
stumbled
and
fell
.
She
recovered
herself
quickly
;
but
in
the
fall
the
money
had
shaken
itself
from
her
sash
,
and
been
scattered
with
a
ringing
sound
among
the
stones
.
The
woman
in
the
tavern‐window
raised
a
loud
cry
.
“
Oh
,
hè
!
the
wicked
liar
!
—
to
beg
bread
while
her
waistband
is
stuffed
like
a
turkey
with
chestnuts
!
What
a
rogue
to
try
and
dupe
poor
honest
people
like
us
!
Take
her
to
prison
.
”
The
woman
cried
loud
;
there
were
half‐a‐dozen
stout
serving‐wenches
and
stable‐lads
about
in
the
little
street
,
with
several
boys
and
children
.
Indignant
at
the
thought
of
an
attempted
fraud
upon
their
charity
,
and
amazed
at
the
flash
and
the
fall
of
the
money
,
they
rushed
on
her
with
shrieks
of
rage
and
scorn
,
with
missiles
of
turf
and
stone
,
with
their
brooms
raised
aloft
,
or
their
dogs
set
to
rage
at
her
.
She
had
not
time
to
gather
up
the
coins
and
notes
;
she
could
only
stand
over
them
and
defend
them
.
Two
beggar‐boys
made
snatch
at
the
tempting
heap
;
she
drew
her
knife
to
daunt
them
with
the
sight
of
it
.
The
people
shrieked
at
sight
of
the
bare
blade
;
a
woman
selling
honeycomb
and
lots
of
honey
at
a
bench
under
a
lime‐tree
raised
a
cry
that
she
had
been
robbed
.
It
was
not
true
;
but
a
street
crowd
always
loves
a
lie
,
and
never
risks
spoiling
,
by
sifting
,
it
.
The
beggar‐lads
and
the
two
serving‐wenches
and
an
old
virago
from
a
cottage‐door
near
set
upon
her
,
and
scrambled
together
to
drive
her
away
from
the
gold
and
share
it
.
Resolute
to
defend
it
at
any
peril
,
she
set
her
heel
down
on
it
,
and
,
with
her
back
against
the
tree
,
stood
firm
;
not
striking
,
but
with
the
point
of
the
knife
outward
.
One
of
the
boys
,
maddened
to
get
the
gold
,
darted
forward
,
twisted
his
limbs
round
her
,
and
struggled
with
her
for
its
possession
.
In
the
struggle
he
wounded
himself
upon
the
steel
.
His
arm
bled
largely
;
he
filled
the
air
with
his
shrieks
;
the
people
,
furious
,
accused
her
of
his
murder
.
Before
five
minutes
had
gone
by
she
was
seized
,
overpowered
by
numbers
,
cuffed
,
kicked
,
upbraided
with
every
name
of
infamy
,
and
dragged
as
a
criminal
up
the
little
steep
stony
street
in
the
blaze
of
the
noonday
sun
,
whilst
on
each
side
the
townsfolk
looked
out
from
their
doorways
and
their
balconies
,
and
cried
out
:
“
What
is
it
?
Oh
,
hè
!
A
brawling
gipsy
,
who
has
stolen
something
,
and
has
stabbed
poor
little
Fréki
,
the
blind
man’s
son
,
because
he
found
her
out
?
Au
violon
!
—
au
violon
!
What
is
it
?
”
To
which
the
groups
called
back
again
,
“
Yes
.
A
thief
of
a
gipsy
,
begging
alms
while
she
had
stolen
gold
on
her
.
She
has
stabbed
poor
little
Fréki
,
the
blind
cobbler’s
grandson
:
yes
;
we
think
he
is
dead
.
”
And
the
people
above
,
in
horror
,
lifted
their
hands
and
eyes
,
and
shouted
afresh
,
“
Au
violon
!
—
au
violon
!
”
Meanwhile
the
honey‐seller
ran
beside
them
,
crying
aloud
that
she
had
been
robbed
of
five
broad
gold
pieces
.
It
was
a
little
sunny
country‐place
,
very
green
with
trees
and
grass
,
filled
usually
with
few
louder
sounds
than
the
cacklings
of
geese
and
the
dripping
of
well‐water
.
But
its
stones
were
sharp
and
rough
;
its
voices
were
shrill
and
fierce
;
its
gossips
were
cruel
and
false
of
tongue
;
its
justice
was
very
small
,
and
its
credulity
was
measureless
.
A
girl
,
bare‐foot
and
bare‐headed
,
with
eyes
of
the
East
,
and
a
knife
in
her
girdle
,
teeth
that
met
in
their
youngsters’
wrists
,
and
gold
pieces
that
scattered
like
dust
from
her
bosom
,
—
such
an
one
could
have
no
possible
innocence
in
their
eyes
,
such
an
one
was
condemned
so
soon
as
she
was
looked
at
,
when
she
was
dragged
amongst
them
up
their
hilly
central
way
.
She
had
had
money
on
her
,
and
she
had
asked
for
food
in
the
plea
of
being
starved
;
that
was
fraud
plain
enough
,
even
for
those
who
were
free
to
admit
that
the
seller
of
the
honey‐pots
had
never
been
over‐true
of
speech
,
and
had
never
owned
so
much
as
five
gold
pieces
ever
since
her
first
bees
had
sucked
their
first
spray
of
heath‐bells
.
No
one
had
any
mercy
on
a
creature
who
had
money
,
and
yet
asked
for
work
;
as
to
her
guilt
,
there
could
be
no
question
.
She
was
hurried
before
the
village
tribune
,
and
cast
into
the
cell
where
all
accused
waited
their
judgement
.
It
was
a
dusky
,
loathsome
place
,
dripping
with
damp
,
half
underground
,
strongly
grilled
with
iron
,
and
smelling
foully
from
the
brandy
and
strong
smoke
of
two
drunkards
who
had
been
its
occupants
the
previous
night
.
There
they
had
left
her
,
taking
away
her
knife
and
her
money
.
She
did
not
resist
.
It
was
not
her
nature
to
rebel
futilely
;
and
they
had
fallen
on
her
six
to
one
,
and
had
bound
her
safely
with
cords
ere
they
had
dragged
her
away
to
punishment
.
The
little
den
was
visible
to
the
highway
through
a
square
low
grating
.
Through
this
they
came
and
stared
,
and
mouthed
,
and
mocked
,
and
taunted
,
and
danced
before
her
.
To
bait
a
gipsy
was
fair
pastime
.
Everywhere
,
from
door
to
door
,
the
blind
cobbler
,
with
his
little
son
,
and
the
woman
who
sold
honey
told
their
tale
,
—
how
she
had
stabbed
the
little
lad
and
stolen
the
gold
that
the
brave
bees
had
brought
their
mistress
,
and
begged
for
food
when
she
had
money
enough
on
her
to
buy
a
rich
man’s
feast
.
It
was
a
tale
to
enlist
against
her
all
the
hardest
animosities
of
the
poor
.
The
village
rose
against
her
in
all
its
little
homes
as
though
she
had
borne
fire
and
sword
into
its
midst
.
If
the
arm
of
the
law
had
not
guarded
the
entrance
of
her
prison‐cell
,
the
women
would
have
stoned
her
to
death
,
or
dragged
her
out
to
drown
in
the
pond
:
—
she
was
worse
than
a
murderess
in
their
sight
;
and
one
weak
man
,
thinking
to
shelter
her
a
little
from
their
rage
,
quoted
against
her
her
darkest
crime
when
he
pleaded
for
mercy
for
her
because
she
was
young
and
was
so
handsome
.
The
long
hot
day
of
torment
passed
slowly
by
.
Outside
there
were
cool
woods
,
flower‐filled
paths
,
broad
fields
of
grass
,
children
tossing
blow‐balls
down
the
wind
,
lovers
counting
the
leaves
of
yellow‐eyed
autumn
daisies
;
but
within
there
were
only
foul
smells
,
intense
nausea
,
cruel
heats
,
the
sting
of
a
thousand
insects
,
the
buzz
of
a
hundred
carrion‐flies
,
muddy
water
,
and
black
mouldy
bread
.
She
held
her
silence
.
She
would
not
let
her
enemies
see
that
they
hurt
her
.
When
they
day
had
gone
down
,
and
the
people
had
tired
of
their
sport
and
left
her
a
little
while
,
an
old
feeble
man
stole
timidly
to
her
,
glancing
round
lest
any
should
see
his
charity
and
quote
is
as
a
crime
,
and
tendered
her
through
the
bars
with
a
gentle
hand
a
little
ripe
autumnal
fruit
upon
a
cool
green
leaf
.
The
kindness
made
the
tears
start
to
eyes
too
proud
to
weep
for
pain
.
She
took
the
grapes
,
and
thanked
him
lovingly
and
thankfully
;
cooled
her
aching
,
burning
,
dust‐drenched
throat
with
their
fragrant
moisture
.
“
Hush
!
it
is
nothing
,
”
he
whispered
,
frightenedly
,
glancing
over
his
shoulder
lest
any
should
see
.
“
But
tell
me
—
tell
me
—
why
did
you
say
you
starved
when
you
had
all
that
gold
?
”
“
I
did
starve
,
”
she
answered
him
.
“
But
why
—
with
all
that
gold
?
”
“
It
was
another’s
.
”
The
old
man
stared
at
her
,
trembling
and
amazed
.
“
What
—
what
!
die
of
hunger
and
keep
your
hands
off
money
in
your
girdle
?
”
A
dreary
smile
came
on
her
face
.
“
What
!
is
that
inhuman
too
?
”
“
Inhuman
?
”
he
murmured
.
“
Oh
child
—
oh
child
,
tell
any
tale
you
will
,
save
such
a
tale
as
that
.
”
And
he
stole
away
sorrowful
,
because
sure
that
for
his
fruit
of
charity
she
had
given
him
back
a
lie
.
He
shambled
away
,
afraid
that
his
neighbours
should
see
the
little
thing
which
he
had
done
.
She
was
left
alone
.
It
began
to
grow
dark
.
She
felt
scorched
with
fever
,
and
her
head
throbbed
.
Long
hunger
,
intense
fatigue
,
and
all
the
agony
of
thought
in
which
she
had
struggled
on
her
way
,
had
their
reaction
on
her
.
She
shivered
where
she
sat
on
the
damp
straw
which
they
had
cast
upon
the
stones
;
and
strange
noises
sang
in
her
ears
,
and
strange
lights
glimmered
and
flashed
before
her
eyes
.
She
did
not
know
what
ailed
her
.
The
dogs
came
and
smelt
at
her
,
and
one
little
early
robin
sang
a
twilight
song
in
an
elder‐bush
near
.
These
were
the
only
things
that
had
any
pity
on
her
.
By‐and‐by
,
when
it
was
quite
night
,
they
opened
the
grated
door
and
thrust
in
another
captive
,
a
vagrant
whom
they
had
found
drunk
or
delirious
on
the
high
road
,
and
whom
they
locked
up
for
the
night
,
that
on
the
morrow
they
might
determine
what
to
do
with
him
.
He
threw
himself
heavily
forward
as
he
was
pushed
in
by
the
old
soldier
whose
place
it
was
to
guard
the
miserable
den
.
She
shrank
away
into
the
furthest
corner
of
the
den
,
and
crouched
there
,
breathing
heavily
,
and
staring
with
dull
,
dilated
eyes
.
She
thought
—
surely
they
could
not
mean
to
leave
them
there
alone
,
all
the
night
through
,
in
the
horrible
darkness
?
The
slamming
of
the
iron
door
answered
her
;
and
the
old
soldier
,
as
he
turned
the
rusty
key
in
the
lock
,
grumbled
that
the
world
was
surely
at
a
pretty
pass
,
when
two
tramps
became
too
coy
to
roost
together
.
And
he
stumbled
up
the
ladder‐like
stairs
of
the
guard‐house
to
his
own
little
chamber
;
and
there
,
smoking
and
drinking
,
and
playing
dominoes
with
a
comrade
,
dismissed
the
prisoners
from
his
recollection
.
Meanwhile
,
the
man
whom
he
had
thrust
into
the
cell
was
stretched
where
he
had
fallen
,
drunk
or
insensible
,
and
moaning
heavily
.
She
,
crouching
against
the
wall
,
as
though
praying
the
stones
to
yield
and
hold
her
,
gazed
at
him
with
horror
and
pity
that
together
strove
in
the
confusion
of
her
dizzy
brain
,
and
made
her
dully
wonder
whether
she
were
wicked
thus
to
shrink
in
loathing
from
a
creature
in
distress
so
like
her
own
.
The
bright
moon
rose
on
the
other
side
of
the
trees
beyond
the
grating
;
it
fell
across
the
figure
of
the
vagrant
whom
they
had
locked
in
with
her
,
as
in
the
wild‐beast
shows
of
old
they
locked
a
lion
with
an
antelope
in
the
same
cage
—
out
of
sport
.
She
saw
the
looming
massive
shadow
of
an
immense
form
,
crouched
like
a
couching
beast
;
she
saw
the
fire
of
burning
,
wide‐open
,
sullen
eyes
;
she
saw
the
restless
,
feeble
gesture
of
two
lean
hands
,
that
clutched
at
the
barren
stones
with
the
futile
action
of
a
chained
vulture
clutching
at
his
rock
;
she
saw
that
the
man
suffered
horribly
,
and
she
tried
to
pity
him
—
tried
not
to
shrink
from
him
—
tried
to
tell
herself
that
he
might
be
as
guiltless
as
was
herself
.
But
she
could
not
prevail
;
nature
,
instinct
,
youth
,
sex
,
sickness
,
exhaustion
,
all
conquered
her
,
and
broke
her
strength
.
She
recoiled
from
the
unbearable
loathsomeness
of
such
association
;
she
sprang
to
the
grated
aperture
,
and
seized
the
iron
in
her
hands
,
and
shook
it
with
al
her
might
,
and
tore
at
it
,
and
bruised
her
chest
and
arms
against
it
,
and
clung
to
it
convulsively
,
shriek
after
shriek
pealing
from
her
lips
.
No
one
heard
,
or
no
one
answered
to
her
prayer
.
A
stray
dog
came
and
howled
in
unison
;
the
moon
sailed
on
behind
the
trees
;
the
old
soldier
above
slept
over
his
toss
of
brandy
;
at
the
only
dwelling
near
they
were
dancing
at
a
bridal
,
and
had
no
ear
to
hear
.
The
passionate
outcries
wailed
themselves
to
silence
on
her
trembling
mouth
;
her
strained
hands
gave
way
from
their
hold
on
the
irons
;
she
grew
silent
from
sheer
exhaustion
,
and
dropped
in
a
heap
at
the
foot
of
the
iron
door
,
clinging
to
it
,
and
crushed
against
it
,
and
turning
her
face
to
the
night
without
,
feeling
some
little
sense
of
solace
in
the
calm
,
clear
moon
;
—
some
little
sense
of
comfort
in
the
near
presence
of
the
dog
.
Meanwhile
the
dusky
prostrate
form
of
the
man
had
not
stirred
.
He
had
not
spoken
,
save
to
curse
heaven
and
earth
and
every
living
thing
.
He
had
not
ceased
to
glare
at
her
with
eyes
that
had
the
red
light
of
a
tiger’s
in
their
pain
.
He
was
a
man
of
superb
stature
and
frame
;
he
was
worn
by
disease
and
delirium
,
but
he
had
in
him
a
wild
,
leonine
,
tawny
beauty
still
.
His
clothes
were
of
rags
,
and
his
whole
look
was
of
wretchedness
;
yet
there
was
about
him
a
certain
reckless
majesty
and
splendour
still
,
as
the
scattered
beams
of
the
white
moonlight
broke
themselves
upon
him
.
Of
a
sudden
he
spoke
aloud
,
with
a
glitter
of
terrible
laughter
on
his
white
teeth
and
his
flashing
eyes
.
He
was
delirious
,
and
had
no
consciousness
of
where
he
was
.
“
The
fourth
bull
I
had
killed
that
Easter
day
.
Look
!
do
you
see
?
It
was
a
red
Andalusian
.
He
lamed
three
picadors
,
and
ripped
the
bellies
of
eight
horses
,
—
a
brave
bull
;
but
I
was
one
too
many
for
him
.
She
was
there
.
All
the
winter
she
had
flouted
over
me
and
taunted
me
;
all
the
winter
she
had
cast
her
scorn
at
me
—
the
beautiful
brown
thing
,
with
her
cruel
eyes
.
But
she
was
there
when
I
slew
the
great
red
bull
—
straight
above
there
,
looking
over
her
fan
.
Do
you
see
?
And
when
my
sword
went
up
to
the
hilt
in
his
throat
,
and
the
brave
blood
spouted
,
she
laughed
such
a
little
sweet
laugh
,
and
cast
her
yellow
jessamine
flower
at
me
,
down
in
the
blood
and
the
sand
there
.
And
that
night
the
red
bull
died
,
the
rope
was
thrown
from
the
balcony
!
So
—
so
!
Only
a
summer
ago
;
only
a
summer
ago
!
”
Then
he
laughed
loud
again
;
and
,
laughing
,
sang
—
“
Avez‐vous
vu
en
Barcelonne
Une
belle‐dame
,
au
sein
bruni
,
Pâle
comme
un
beau
soir
d’automne
?
C’est
ma
maitresse
,
ma
lionne
,
La
Marchesa
d’Amagüi
.
”
The
rich
loud
challenge
of
the
love‐song
snapped
short
in
two
.
With
a
groan
and
a
curse
he
flung
himself
on
the
mud
floor
,
and
clutched
at
it
with
his
empty
hands
.
“
Wine
!
—
wine
!
”
he
moaned
,
lying
athirst
there
as
the
red
bull
had
lain
on
the
sands
of
the
circus
;
longing
for
the
purple
draughts
of
his
old
feast‐nights
,
as
the
red
bull
had
longed
for
the
mountain‐streams
,
so
cold
and
strong
,
of
his
own
Andalusian
birthplace
.
Then
he
laughed
again
,
and
sang
old
songs
of
Spain
,
broken
and
marred
by
discord
—
their
majestic
melodies
wedded
strangely
to
many
a
stave
of
lewd
riot
and
of
amorous
verse
.
Then
for
awhile
he
was
quiet
,
moaning
dully
,
staring
upward
at
the
white
face
of
the
moon
.
After
a
while
he
mocked
it
—
the
cold
,
chaste
thing
that
was
the
meek
trickster
of
so
many
mole‐eyed
lords
.
Through
the
terror
and
the
confusion
of
her
mind
,
with
the
sonorous
melody
of
the
tongue
,
with
the
flaming
darkness
of
his
eyes
,
with
the
wild
barbaric
dissolute
grandeur
of
this
shattered
manhood
,
vague
memories
floated
,
distorted
and
intangible
,
before
her
.
Of
deep
forests
whose
shade
was
cool
even
in
midsummer
and
midday
;
of
glancing
torrents
rushing
through
their
beds
of
stone
;
of
mountain
snows
flushing
in
sunset
toll
the
hues
of
the
mountain
roses
that
grew
by
millions
by
the
river‐water
;
of
wondrous
nights
,
sultry
and
serene
,
in
which
women
with
flashing
glances
and
bare
breasts
danced
with
their
spangled
anklets
glittering
in
the
rays
of
the
moon
;
of
roofless
palaces
where
the
Crescent
still
glistened
amidst
the
colours
of
the
walls
;
of
marble
courts
where
only
the
oleander
kept
pomp
and
the
wild
fig‐vine
held
possession
;
of
a
dead
nation
which
at
midnight
thronged
through
the
tombs
of
its
kings
,
and
passed
in
shadowy
hosts
through
the
fated
land
which
had
rejected
the
faith
and
the
empire
of
Islam
;
sowing
as
they
went
upon
the
blood‐soaked
soil
of
Spain
the
vengeance
of
the
dead
in
pestilence
,
in
anarchy
,
in
barren
passions
,
in
endless
riot
and
revolt
,
so
that
no
sovereign
should
ever
sit
in
peace
on
the
ruined
throne
of
the
Moslem
,
and
no
light
shine
ever
again
upon
the
people
whose
boast
it
once
had
been
on
them
the
sun
in
heaven
never
set
:
—
all
these
memories
floated
before
her
,
and
only
served
to
make
her
fear
more
ghastly
,
her
horror
more
unearthly
.
There
he
lay
delirious
—
a
madman
chained
there
at
her
feet
,
so
close
in
the
little
den
,
that
,
shrink
as
she
would
against
the
wall
,
she
could
barely
keep
from
the
touch
of
his
hands
as
they
were
flung
forth
in
the
air
,
from
the
scorch
of
his
breath
as
he
raved
and
cursed
.
And
there
was
no
light
except
the
fire
in
his
eyes
;
except
the
flicker
of
the
moonbeam
through
the
leaves
.
She
spent
her
strength
in
piteous
shrieks
.
They
were
the
first
cries
that
had
ever
broken
from
her
lips
for
human
aid
;
and
they
were
vain
.
The
guard
above
slept
heavy
with
brandy
and
a
dotard’s
dreams
.
The
village
was
not
aroused
.
What
cared
any
of
its
sleepers
how
these
outcasts
fared
?
She
crouched
in
the
farthest
corner
,
when
her
voice
had
spent
itself
in
the
passion
of
appeal
.
The
night
—
would
it
ever
end
?
Beside
its
horror
,
all
the
wretchedness
and
bondage
of
her
old
life
seemed
like
peace
and
freedom
.
Writhing
in
pain
and
frenzy
,
the
wounded
drunkard
struck
her
—
all
unconscious
of
the
blow
—
across
her
eyes
,
and
fell
,
contorted
and
senseless
,
with
his
head
upon
her
knees
.
He
had
ceased
to
shout
his
amorous
songs
,
and
vaunt
his
lustful
triumphs
.
His
voice
was
hollow
in
his
throat
,
and
babbled
with
a
strange
sound
,
low
and
fast
and
inarticulate
.
“
In
the
little
green
wood
—
in
the
little
green
wood
,
”
he
muttered
.
“
Hark
!
do
you
hear
the
mill‐water
run
?
She
looked
so
white
and
so
cold
;
and
they
all
called
her
a
saint
.
What
could
a
man
do
but
kill
that
?
Does
she
cry
out
against
me
?
You
say
so
?
You
lie
.
You
lie
—
be
you
devil
or
god
.
You
sit
on
a
great
white
throne
and
judge
us
all
.
So
they
say
.
You
can
send
us
to
hell
?
.
.
.
.
Well
,
do
.
You
shall
never
wring
a
word
from
her
to
my
hurt
.
She
thinks
I
killed
the
child
?
Nay
—
that
I
swear
.
Phratos
knew
,
I
think
.
But
he
is
dead
;
—
so
they
say
.
Ask
him
.
.
.
.
My
brown
queen
,
who
saw
me
kill
the
red
bull
,
—
are
you
there
too
?
Aye
.
How
the
white
jewels
shine
in
your
breast
!
Stoop
a
little
,
and
kiss
me
.
So
!
Your
mouth
burns
;
and
the
yellow
jessamine
flower
—
there
is
a
snake
in
it
.
Look
!
You
love
me
?
—
oh‐ho
!
—
what
does
your
priest
say
,
and
your
lord
?
Love
!
—
so
many
of
you
swore
that
.
But
she
,
—
she
standing
next
to
her
god
there
,
—
I
hurt
her
most
,
and
yet
she
alone
of
you
all
says
nothing
!
”
*
*
*
*
*
*
When
,
at
daylight
,
the
people
unbarred
the
prison‐door
,
they
found
the
sightless
face
of
the
dead
mean
lying
full
in
the
light
of
the
sun
:
beside
him
the
girl
crouched
with
a
senseless
stare
in
the
horror
of
her
eyes
,
and
on
her
lips
a
ghastly
laugh
.
For
Folle‐Farine
had
entered
at
last
into
her
Father’s
kingdom
.
CHAPTER
II
.
FOR
many
months
she
knew
nothing
of
the
flight
of
time
.
All
she
was
conscious
of
were
burning
intolerable
pain
,
continual
thirst
,
and
the
presence
as
of
an
iron
hand
upon
her
head
,
weighing
down
the
imprisoned
brain
.
All
she
saw
in
the
horrible
darkness
,
which
no
ray
of
light
ever
broke
,
was
the
face
of
Thanatos
,
with
the
white
rose
pressed
against
his
mouth
,
to
whom
endlessly
she
stretched
her
arms
in
vain
entreaty
,
but
who
said
only
,
with
the
passionless
pity
of
his
gaze
,
“
I
come
in
my
own
time
,
and
neither
tarry
nor
hasten
for
any
supplication
of
a
mortal
creature
.
”
She
lived
,
as
a
reed
torn
up
from
the
root
may
live
,
by
the
winds
that
waft
it
,
by
the
birds
that
carry
it
,
by
the
sands
that
draw
its
fibres
down
into
themselves
,
to
root
afresh
whether
it
will
or
no.
“
The
reed
was
worthy
to
die
!
—
the
reed
was
worthy
to
die
!
”
was
all
that
she
said
,
again
and
again
,
lying
staring
with
her
hot
distending
eyes
into
the
void
as
of
perpetual
night
,
which
was
all
that
she
saw
around
her
.
The
words
were
to
those
who
heard
her
,
however
,
the
mere
meaningless
babble
of
madness
.
When
they
had
found
her
in
the
cell
of
the
guardhouse
,
she
was
far
beyond
any
reach
of
harm
from
them
,
or
any
sensibility
of
the
worst
which
they
might
do
to
her
.
She
was
in
a
delirious
stupor
,
which
left
her
no
more
sense
of
place
,
or
sound
,
or
time
than
if
her
brain
had
been
drugged
to
the
agonies
and
ecstasies
of
the
opium‐eater
.
They
found
her
homeless
,
friendless
,
nameless
;
a
thing
accursed
,
destitute
,
unknown
;
as
useless
and
as
rootless
as
the
dead
Spanish
vagrant
lying
on
the
stones
beside
her
.
They
cast
him
to
the
public
ditch
;
they
sent
her
to
the
public
sick
wards
,
a
league
away
;
an
ancient
palace
,
whose
innumerable
chambers
and
whose
vast
corridors
had
been
given
to
a
sisterhood
of
mercy
,
and
employed
for
nigh
a
century
as
a
public
hospital
.
In
this
prison
she
lay
without
any
sense
of
the
passing
of
hours
and
days
and
months
.
The
accusation
against
her
fell
to
the
ground
harmless
;
no
one
pursued
it
:
the
gold
was
gone
—
somewhere
,
nowhere
.
No
one
knew
,
unless
it
were
the
bee‐wife
,
and
she
held
her
peace
.
She
was
borne
,
senseless
,
to
the
old
hospice
in
the
great
,
dull
,
saintly
,
historic
town
,
and
there
perished
from
all
memories
as
all
time
perished
to
her
.
Once
or
twice
the
sister
of
charity
who
had
the
charge
of
her
sought
to
exorcise
the
demon
tormenting
this
stricken
brain
and
burning
body
,
by
thrusting
into
the
hands
that
clenched
the
air
a
leaden
image
or
a
cross
of
sacred
wood
.
But
those
heathen
hands
,
even
in
delirium
,
threw
those
emblems
away
always
,
and
the
captive
would
mutter
,
in
a
vague
incoherence
that
froze
the
blood
of
her
hearers
:
“
The
old
gods
are
not
dead
;
they
only
wait
—
they
only
wait
!
I
am
theirs
—
theirs
!
They
forget
,
perhaps
.
But
I
remember
.
I
keep
my
faith
;
they
must
keep
theirs
,
for
shame’s
sake
.
Heaven
or
hell
?
what
does
it
matter
?
Can
it
matter
to
me
,
so
that
he
has
his
desire
?
And
that
they
must
give
,
or
break
faith
,
as
men
do
.
Persephone
ate
the
pomegranate
,
—
you
know
—
and
she
went
back
to
hell
.
So
will
I
—
if
they
will
it
.
What
can
it
matter
how
the
reed
dies
?
—
by
fire
,
by
steel
,
by
storm
?
—
what
matter
,
so
that
the
earth
hear
the
music
?
Ah
,
God
!
the
reed
was
found
worthy
to
die
!
—
And
I
—
I
am
too
vile
,
too
poor
,
too
shameful
even
for
that
!
”
And
then
her
voice
would
rise
in
a
passion
of
hysteric
weeping
,
or
sink
away
into
the
feeble
wailing
of
the
brain
,
mortally
stricken
,
and
yet
dimly
sensible
of
its
own
madness
and
weakness
;
and
all
through
the
hours
she
,
in
her
unconsciousness
,
would
lament
for
this
—
for
this
alone
—
that
the
gods
had
not
deemed
her
worthy
of
the
stroke
of
death
by
which
,
through
her
,
a
divine
melody
might
have
arisen
,
and
saved
the
world
.
For
the
fable
—
which
had
grown
to
hold
the
place
of
so
implicit
a
faith
to
her
—
was
in
her
delirium
always
present
with
her
;
and
she
had
retained
no
sense
of
herself
except
as
the
bruised
and
trampled
reed
which
man
and
the
gods
alike
had
rejected
as
unworthy
of
sacrifice
.
All
the
late
autumn
and
the
early
winter
came
and
went
;
and
the
cloud
was
dark
upon
her
mind
,
and
the
pain
of
the
blow
dealt
to
her
by
Taric’s
hand
gnawed
at
her
brain
.
When
the
winter
turned
,
the
darkness
in
which
her
reason
had
been
engulphed
began
to
clear
,
little
by
little
.
As
the
first
small
trill
of
the
wren
stirred
the
silence
in
the
old
elm
boughs
;
as
the
first
feeble
gleam
of
the
new
year
sunshine
struggled
through
the
matted
branches
of
the
yews
;
as
the
first
frail
blossom
of
the
pale
hepatica
timidly
peeped
forth
in
the
damp
moss‐grown
walls
without
,
so
consciousness
slowly
returned
to
her
.
She
was
so
young
;
the
youth
in
her
refused
to
be
quenched
,
and
recovered
its
hold
upon
life
as
did
the
song
of
the
birds
,
the
light
in
the
skies
,
the
corn
in
the
seed‐sown
earth
.
She
awakened
to
strength
,
to
health
,
to
knowledge
;
she
awoke
thus
blinded
and
confused
,
and
capable
of
little
save
the
sense
of
some
loathsome
bondage
,
of
some
irreparable
loss
,
of
some
great
duty
which
she
had
left
undone
,
of
some
great
errand
to
which
she
had
been
summoned
,
and
found
wanting
.
She
saw
four
close
stone
walls
around
her
;
she
saw
her
wrists
and
her
ankles
bound
;
she
saw
a
hole
high
above
her
head
,
braced
with
iron
bars
,
which
served
to
let
in
the
few
pallid
streaks
of
daylight
which
alone
ever
found
their
way
thither
;
she
saw
a
black
cross
in
one
corner
,
and
before
it
two
women
in
black
,
who
prayed
.
She
tried
to
rise
and
could
not
:
being
fettered
.
She
tore
at
the
rope
on
her
wrists
with
her
teeth
like
a
young
tigress
at
her
chains
.
They
essayed
to
soothe
her
,
but
in
vain
;
they
then
made
trial
first
of
threats
,
than
of
coercion
;
neither
affected
her
;
she
bit
at
the
knotted
cords
with
her
white
strong
teeth
,
and
,
being
unable
to
free
herself
,
fell
backward
into
a
savage
despair
,
glaring
in
mute
impotent
rage
upon
her
keepers
.
“
I
must
go
to
Paris
,
”
she
muttered
again
and
again
.
“
I
must
go
to
Paris
.
”
So
much
escaped
her
;
—
but
her
secret
she
was
still
strong
to
keep
buried
in
silence
in
her
heart
,
as
she
had
still
kept
it
even
in
her
madness
.
Her
old
strength
,
her
old
patience
,
her
old
ferocity
and
stubbornness
and
habits
of
mute
resistance
had
revived
in
her
with
the
return
of
life
and
reason
.
Slowly
she
remembered
all
things
,
—
remembered
that
she
had
been
accused
and
hunted
down
as
a
thief
and
brought
thither
into
this
prison
,
as
she
deemed
it
,
where
the
closeness
of
the
walls
pent
her
in
and
shut
out
the
clouds
and
the
stars
,
the
water
and
the
moonrise
,
the
flicker
of
the
green
leaves
against
the
gold
of
sunset
,
and
all
the
liberty
and
loveliness
of
earth
and
air
for
which
she
was
devoured
by
a
continual
thirst
of
longing
,
like
the
thirst
of
the
caged
lark
for
the
fair
heights
of
heaven
.
So
when
they
spoke
of
their
god
,
she
answered
always
as
the
lark
answers
when
his
gaolers
speak
to
him
of
song
;
—
“
Set
me
free
.
”
But
they
thought
this
madness
no
less
,
and
kept
her
bound
there
in
the
little
dark
stone
den
where
no
sound
ever
reached
,
unless
it
were
the
wailing
of
a
bell
,
and
no
glimpse
of
the
sky
or
the
trees
could
ever
come
to
charm
to
peaceful
rest
her
aching
eyes
.
At
length
they
grew
afraid
of
what
they
did
.
She
refused
all
food
;
she
turned
her
face
to
the
wall
;
she
stretched
herself
on
her
bed
of
straw
motionless
and
rigid
.
The
confinement
,
the
absence
of
air
,
were
a
living
death
to
the
creature
whose
lungs
were
stifled
unless
they
drank
in
the
fresh
cool
draught
of
winds
blowing
unchecked
over
the
widths
of
the
fields
and
forests
,
and
whose
eyes
ached
and
grew
blind
unless
they
could
gaze
into
the
depths
of
free‐flowing
water
,
or
feed
themselves
in
far‐reaching
sight
upon
the
radiant
skies
.
The
errant
passions
in
her
,
the
inborn
instincts
towards
perpetual
liberty
,
and
the
life
of
the
desert
and
of
the
mountains
which
came
with
the
blood
of
the
Zingari
,
made
her
prison‐house
a
torture
to
her
such
as
is
unknown
to
the
house‐born
and
hearth‐fettered
races
.
If
this
wild
moorbird
died
of
self‐imposed
famine
rather
than
live
only
to
beat
its
cut
wings
against
the
four
walls
of
their
pent
prison‐house
,
it
might
turn
ill
for
themselves
;
so
the
religious
community
meditated
.
They
became
afraid
of
their
own
work
.
One
day
they
said
to
her
:
“
Eat
and
live
,
and
you
will
be
set
free
to‐morrow
.
”
She
turned
for
the
first
time
and
lifted
her
face
from
the
straw
in
which
she
buried
it
,
and
looked
them
in
the
eyes
.
“
Is
that
true
?
”
she
asked
.
“
Ay
,
”
they
answered
her
.
“
We
swear
it
by
the
cross
of
our
blessed
Master
.
”
“
If
a
Christian
swear
it
,
—
it
must
be
a
lie
,
”
she
said
,
with
the
smile
that
froze
their
timid
blood
.
But
she
accepted
the
food
and
the
drink
which
they
brought
her
,
and
broke
her
fast
,
and
slept
through
many
hours
;
strengthened
,
as
by
strong
wine
,
by
that
one
hope
of
freedom
beneath
the
wide
pure
skies
.
She
asked
them
on
awakening
what
the
season
of
the
year
was
then
.
They
told
her
it
was
the
early
spring
.
“
The
spring
,
”
she
echoed
dully
,
—
all
the
months
were
a
blank
to
her
,
which
had
rolled
by
since
that
red
autumn
evening
,
when
in
the
cell
of
the
guard‐house
the
voice
of
Taric
had
chaunted
in
drink
and
delirium
the
passion
songs
of
Spain
.
“
Yes
.
It
is
spring
,
”
they
said
;
and
one
sister
,
younger
and
gentler
than
the
rest
,
reached
from
its
place
above
the
crucifix
the
bough
of
the
golden
catkins
of
the
willow
,
which
served
them
at
their
holy
season
as
an
emblem
of
the
palms
of
Palestine
.
She
looked
at
the
drooping
grace
of
the
branches
,
with
their
buds
of
amber
,
long
and
in
silence
;
then
with
a
passion
of
weeping
she
turned
her
face
from
them
as
from
the
presence
of
some
intolerable
memory
.
All
down
the
shore
of
the
river
,
amongst
the
silver
of
the
reeds
,
the
willows
had
been
in
blossom
when
she
had
first
looked
upon
the
face
of
Arslàn
.
“
Stay
with
us
,
”
the
women
murmured
,
drawn
to
her
by
the
humanity
of
those
,
the
first
,
tears
that
she
had
ever
shed
in
her
imprisonment
.
“
Stay
with
us
;
and
it
shall
go
hard
if
we
cannot
find
a
means
to
bring
you
to
eternal
peace
.
”
She
shook
her
head
wearily
.
“
It
is
not
peace
that
I
seek
,
”
she
murmured
.
Peace
?
He
would
care
nothing
for
peace
on
earth
or
in
heaven
,
she
knew
.
What
she
had
sought
to
gain
for
him
—
what
she
would
seek
still
when
once
she
should
get
free
—
was
the
eternal
conflict
of
a
great
fame
in
the
world
of
men
.
Since
this
was
the
only
fate
which
in
his
sight
had
any
grace
or
any
glory
in
it
.
They
kept
their
faith
with
her
.
They
opened
the
doors
of
her
prison‐house
and
bade
her
depart
in
peace
,
pagan
and
criminal
though
they
deemed
her
.
She
reeled
a
little
dizzily
as
the
first
blaze
of
the
full
daylight
fell
on
her
.
She
walked
out
with
unsteady
steps
into
the
open
air
where
they
took
her
,
and
felt
it
cool
and
fresh
upon
her
cheek
,
and
saw
the
blue
sky
above
her
.
The
gates
which
they
unbarred
were
those
at
the
back
of
the
hospital
,
where
the
country
stretched
around
.
They
did
not
care
that
she
should
be
seen
by
the
people
of
the
streets
.
She
was
left
alone
on
a
road
outside
the
great
building
that
had
been
her
prison‐house
;
the
road
was
full
of
light
,
it
was
straight
and
shadowless
;
there
was
a
tall
tree
near
her
full
of
leaf
;
there
was
a
little
bird
fluttering
in
the
sand
at
her
feet
;
the
ground
was
wet
,
and
sparkled
with
rain
drops
.
All
these
little
things
came
to
her
like
the
notes
of
a
song
heard
far
away
—
far
away
—
in
another
world
.
They
were
so
familiar
,
yet
so
strange
.
There
was
a
little
yellow
flower
growing
in
a
tuft
of
grasses
straight
in
front
of
her
;
a
little
wayside
weed
;
a
root
and
blossom
of
the
field‐born
celandine
.
She
fell
on
her
knees
in
the
dust
by
it
,
and
laughed
and
wept
,
and
quivering
,
kissed
it
and
blessed
it
that
it
grew
there
.
It
was
the
first
thing
of
summer
and
of
sunshine
she
had
seen
so
long
.
A
man
in
the
gateway
saw
her
and
shook
her
,
and
bade
her
get
from
the
ground
.
“
You
are
fitter
to
go
back
again
,
”
he
muttered
;
“
you
are
mad
,
still
,
I
think
.
”
Like
a
hunted
animal
she
stumbled
to
her
feet
and
fled
from
him
;
winged
by
the
one
ghastly
terror
that
they
would
claim
her
and
chain
her
back
again
.
They
had
said
that
she
was
free
:
but
what
were
words
?
They
had
taken
her
once
;
they
might
take
her
twice
.
She
ran
,
and
ran
,
and
ran
.
The
intense
fear
that
possessed
her
lent
her
irresistible
force
.
She
coursed
the
earth
with
the
swiftness
of
a
hare
.
She
took
no
heed
whence
she
went
;
she
only
knew
that
she
fled
from
the
one
unutterable
horror
of
that
place
.
She
thought
they
were
right
;
that
she
was
mad
.
It
was
a
level
green
silent
country
which
was
round
her
,
with
little
loveliness
and
little
colour
;
but
as
she
went
she
laughed
incessantly
in
the
delirious
gladness
of
her
liberty
.
She
tossed
her
head
back
to
watch
the
flight
of
a
single
swallow
;
she
caught
a
handful
of
green
leaves
and
buried
her
face
in
them
.
She
listened
in
a
very
agony
of
memory
to
the
rippling
moisture
of
a
little
brook
.
She
followed
with
her
eyes
the
sweeping
vapours
of
the
rain‐clouds
,
and
when
a
west
wind
rose
and
blew
a
cluster
of
loose
apple
blossoms
between
her
eyes
—
she
could
no
longer
bear
the
passionate
pain
of
all
the
long‐lost
sweetness
,
but
flinging
herself
downward
,
sobbed
with
the
ecstasy
of
an
exile’s
memories
.
The
hell
in
which
she
had
dwelt
had
denied
them
to
her
for
so
long
.
“
Ah
God
!
”
she
thought
,
“
I
know
now
—
one
cannot
be
utterly
wretched
whilst
one
has
still
the
air
and
the
light
and
the
winds
of
the
sky
.
”
And
she
arose
,
calmer
,
and
went
on
her
way
;
wondering
,
even
in
that
hour
,
why
men
and
women
trod
the
daily
measures
of
their
lives
with
their
eyes
downward
and
their
ears
choked
with
the
dust
;
hearkening
so
little
to
the
sound
of
the
breeze
in
the
grasses
,
looking
so
little
to
the
passage
of
the
clouds
against
the
sun
.
When
the
first
blindness
and
rapture
of
her
liberty
had
a
little
passed
away
,
and
abated
in
violence
,
she
stood
in
the
midst
of
the
green
fields
and
the
fresh
woods
,
a
strange
,
sad
,
lonely
figure
of
absolute
desolation
.
Her
clothes
were
in
rags
;
her
red
girdle
had
been
changed
by
weather
to
a
dusky
purple
;
her
thick
clustering
hair
had
been
cut
to
her
throat
;
her
radiant
hues
were
blanched
,
and
her
immense
eyes
gazed
woefully
from
beneath
their
heavy
dreamy
lids
,
like
the
eyes
of
an
antelope
whom
men
vainly
starve
in
the
attempt
to
tame
.
She
knew
neither
where
to
go
nor
what
to
do
.
She
had
not
a
coin
nor
a
crust
upon
her
.
She
could
not
tell
where
she
then
stood
,
nor
where
the
only
home
that
she
had
ever
known
might
lie
.
She
had
not
a
friend
on
earth
and
she
was
seventeen
years
old
,
and
was
beautiful
and
was
a
woman
.
She
stood
and
looked
;
she
did
not
weep
;
she
did
not
pray
;
her
heart
seemed
frozen
in
her
.
She
had
the
gift
she
had
craved
;
—
and
how
could
she
use
it
?
The
light
was
obscured
by
the
clouds
,
great
sweet
rain
clouds
which
came
trooping
from
the
west
.
Woods
were
all
round
,
and
close
against
her
were
low
brown
cattle
,
cropping
clovered
grass
.
Away
on
the
horizon
was
a
vague
,
vast
golden
cloud
,
like
a
million
threads
of
gossamer
glowing
in
the
sun
.
She
did
not
know
what
it
was
;
yet
it
drew
her
eyes
to
it
.
A
herdsman
came
by
her
to
the
cattle
.
She
pointed
to
the
cloud
.
“
What
is
that
light
?
”
she
asked
him
.
The
cowherd
stared
and
laughed
.
“
That
light
?
It
is
only
the
sun
shining
on
the
domes
and
the
spires
of
Paris
.
”
“
Paris
!
”
She
echoed
the
name
with
a
great
sob
,
and
crossed
her
hands
upon
her
breast
,
and
in
her
way
thanked
God
.
She
had
had
no
thought
that
she
could
be
thus
near
to
it
.
She
asked
no
more
,
but
set
straight
on
her
way
thither
.
It
looked
quite
close
.
She
had
exhausted
the
scanty
strength
which
she
owned
in
her
first
flight
;
she
could
go
but
slowly
;
and
the
roads
were
heavy
across
the
ploughed
lands
,
and
through
the
edges
of
the
woods
.
She
walked
on
and
on
till
it
grew
dusk
,
then
she
asked
of
a
woman
weeding
in
a
field
how
far
it
might
be
yet
to
Paris
.
The
woman
told
her
four
leagues
and
more
.
She
grew
deadly
cold
with
fear
.
She
was
weak
,
and
she
had
no
hope
that
she
could
reach
it
before
dawn
;
and
she
had
nothing
with
which
to
buy
shelter
for
the
night
.
She
could
see
it
still
;
a
cloud
,
now
as
of
fireflies
,
upon
the
purple
and
black
of
the
night
;
and
in
a
passionate
agony
of
longing
she
once
more
bent
her
limbs
and
ran
—
thinking
of
him
.
To
her
the
city
of
the
world
,
the
city
of
the
kings
,
the
city
of
the
eagles
,
was
only
of
value
for
the
sake
of
this
one
life
it
held
.
It
was
useless
.
All
the
strength
she
possessed
was
already
spent
.
The
feebleness
of
fever
still
sang
in
her
ears
and
trembled
in
her
blood
.
She
was
sick
and
faint
,
and
very
thirsty
.
She
struck
timidly
at
a
little
cottage
door
,
and
asked
to
rest
the
night
there
.
The
woman
glanced
at
her
and
slammed‐to
the
door
.
At
another
and
yet
another
she
tried
;
but
at
neither
had
she
any
welcome
;
they
muttered
of
the
hospitals
and
drove
her
onward
.
Finally
,
tired
out
,
she
dropped
down
on
the
curled
hollow
of
an
old
oak
stump
that
stood
by
the
wayside
,
and
fell
asleep
,
seeing
to
the
last
through
her
sinking
lids
that
cloud
of
light
where
the
great
city
lay
.
The
night
was
cold
;
the
earth
damp
;
it
was
far
on
into
night
;
she
stretched
her
limbs
out
wearily
and
sighed
,
and
dreamed
that
Thanatos
touched
her
with
his
asphodels
,
and
whispered
,
“
Come
.
”
CHAPTER
III
.
WHEN
she
awoke
she
was
no
longer
in
the
open
air
by
the
roadside
,
with
the
grey
of
the
falling
night
about
her
,
and
the
wet
leaves
for
her
bed
.
She
was
in
a
white
painted
chamber
,
sweet
with
many
roses
,
hung
with
deep
hues
of
violet
,
filled
with
gold
and
colour
and
sculpture
and
bronze
,
duskily
beautiful
and
dimly
lighted
by
a
great
wood
fire
that
glowed
upon
andirons
of
brass
.
On
the
wall
nearest
her
hung
all
alone
a
picture
,
—
a
picture
of
a
girl
asleep
in
a
scarlet
blaze
of
poppies
,
above
her
head
a
purple
butterfly
,
and
on
her
breast
the
Red
Mouse
of
the
Brocken
.
Opposite
to
it
beside
the
hearth
,
watching
her
with
his
small
brilliant
eyes
,
and
quite
motionless
,
sat
the
old
man
Sartorian
,
who
had
kept
his
faith
with
her
,
though
the
gods
had
not
kept
theirs
.
And
the
picture
and
the
reality
grew
confused
before
her
,
and
she
knew
not
which
was
herself
and
which
her
painted
likeness
,
nor
which
was
the
little
red
mouse
that
gibbered
among
the
red
flowers
,
and
which
the
little
old
man
who
sat
watching
her
with
the
fire
gleams
bright
in
his
eyes
;
and
it
seemed
to
her
that
she
and
the
picture
were
one
,
and
he
and
the
mouse
were
one
likewise
;
and
she
moaned
and
leaned
her
head
on
her
hands
and
tried
to
think
.
The
heat
of
the
chamber
and
the
strong
nourishment
which
they
had
poured
down
her
throat
when
she
was
insensible
of
anything
they
did
to
her
,
had
revived
the
life
in
her
.
Memory
and
sense
returned
slowly
to
her
;
what
first
awakened
her
was
her
one
passionate
desire
,
so
intense
that
it
became
an
instinct
stifling
every
other
,
to
go
on
her
way
to
the
city
that
had
flashed
in
its
golden
glory
on
her
sight
one
moment
,
only
the
next
to
disappear
into
the
eternal
night
.
“
Paris
!
”
she
muttered
mechanically
,
as
she
lifted
her
face
with
a
hopeless
bewildered
prayer
.
“
Tell
me
the
way
to
Paris
,
”
she
muttered
instinctively
,
and
she
tried
to
rise
and
walk
,
not
well
knowing
what
she
did
.
The
old
man
laughed
a
little
silently
.
“
A‐h‐h‐
.
Women
are
the
only
peaches
that
roll
of
their
own
accord
from
the
wall
to
the
wasp’s
nest
.
”
At
the
sound
of
his
voice
her
eyes
opened
wide
upon
him
;
she
knew
his
face
again
.
“
Where
am
I
?
”
she
asked
him
with
a
sharp
terror
in
her
voice
.
“
In
my
house
,
”
he
said
simply
.
“
I
drove
by
you
when
you
lay
on
the
roadside
.
I
recognised
you
.
When
people
dream
of
immortality
they
generally
die
in
a
ditch
.
You
would
have
died
of
a
single
night
out
there
.
I
sent
my
people
for
you
.
You
did
not
wake
.
You
have
slept
here
five
hours
.
”
“
Is
this
Rioz
?
”
She
could
not
comprehend
,
a
horror
seized
her
lest
she
should
have
strayed
from
Paris
back
into
her
mother’s
province
.
“
No.
It
is
another
home
of
mine
;
’
smaller
,
but
choicer
may
be
.
Who
has
cut
your
hair
close
?
”
She
shuddered
and
turned
paler
with
the
memory
of
that
ghastly
prison‐house
.
“
Well
;
I
am
not
sure
but
that
you
are
handsomer
,
—
almost
.
A
sculptor
would
like
you
more
now
,
—
what
a
head
you
would
make
for
an
Anteros
,
or
an
Icarus
,
or
a
Hyacinthus
.
Yes
—
you
are
best
so
.
You
have
been
ill
?
”
She
could
not
answer
;
she
only
stared
at
him
blankly
,
with
sad
,
mindless
,
dilated
eyes
.
“
A
little
gold
,
”
she
muttered
;
“
a
little
gold
.
”
He
looked
at
her
awhile
,
then
rose
and
went
and
sent
his
handwomen
,
who
took
her
to
an
inner
chamber
,
and
bathed
and
attended
her
with
assiduous
care
;
she
was
stupefied
and
knew
not
what
they
did
.
They
served
her
tenderly
.
They
bathed
her
tired
limbs
and
laid
her
as
gently
as
though
she
were
some
wounded
royal
captive
upon
a
couch
of
down
.
She
had
no
force
to
resist
.
Her
eyes
were
heavy
,
and
her
senses
were
obscured
.
The
potence
of
the
draught
which
they
had
forced
through
her
lips
,
when
she
had
been
insensible
,
acted
on
her
as
an
anodyne
.
She
sank
back
unconsciously
,
and
she
slept
again
,
all
through
the
night
and
half
the
day
that
followed
.
Through
all
the
hours
she
was
conscious
at
intervals
of
the
fragrance
of
flowers
,
of
the
gleams
of
silver
and
gold
,
of
the
sounds
of
distant
music
,
of
the
white
calm
gaze
of
marble
fauns
and
dryads
,
who
looked
on
her
from
amidst
the
coolness
of
hanging
foilage
.
She
who
had
never
rested
on
any
softer
couch
than
her
truss
of
hay
or
heap
of
bracken
,
dreamed
that
she
slept
on
roses
.
The
fragrance
of
innumerable
flowers
breathed
all
around
her
.
A
distant
music
came
through
the
silence
on
her
drowsy
ear
.
For
the
first
time
in
her
life
of
toil
and
pain
she
knew
how
exquisite
a
pleasure
mere
repose
can
be
.
At
noon
she
awoke
,
crying
aloud
that
the
Red
Mouse
claimed
her
soul
from
Thanatos
.
When
her
vision
cleared
,
and
her
dream
passed
away
,
the
music
,
the
flowers
,
the
colour
,
the
coolness
,
were
all
real
around
her
.
She
was
lying
on
a
couch
as
soft
as
the
rose‐beds
of
Sybaris
.
About
her
were
the
luxuries
and
the
graces
amidst
which
the
rich
dwell
.
Above
her
head
,
from
a
golden
height
,
a
painted
Eros
smiled
.
The
light
,
on
to
which
her
startled
eyes
opened
,
came
to
her
veiled
through
soft
,
rosy
hues
;
the
blossom
of
flowers
met
her
everywhere
,
glided
lattices
and
precious
stones
,
and
countless
things
for
which
she
knew
neither
the
name
nor
use
,
and
wondrous
plants
,
with
birds
like
living
blossoms
on
the
wing
above
them
,
and
the
marble
heads
of
women
,
rising
cold
and
pure
above
the
dreamy
shadows
—
all
the
colour
,
and
the
charm
,
and
the
silence
,
and
the
grace
of
the
life
that
is
rounded
by
wealth
was
around
her
.
She
lay
silent
and
breathless
awhile
,
with
wide
open
eyes
,
motionless
from
the
languor
of
her
weakness
and
the
confusion
of
her
thoughts
,
wondering
dully
,
whether
she
belonged
to
the
hosts
of
the
living
or
the
dead
.
She
was
in
a
small
sleeping
chamber
,
in
a
bed
like
the
cup
of
a
lotus
;
there
was
perfect
silence
round
her
,
except
for
the
faint
far‐off
echo
of
some
music
;
a
drowsy
subtle
fragrance
filled
the
air
,
the
solemn
measure
of
a
clock’s
pendulum
deepened
the
sense
of
stillness
;
for
the
first
time
in
her
life
she
learned
how
voluptuous
a
thing
the
enjoyment
of
simple
rest
can
be
.
All
her
senses
were
steeped
in
it
,
lulled
by
it
,
magnetised
by
it
;
and
,
so
far
as
every
thought
was
conscious
to
her
,
she
thought
that
this
was
death
—
death
amidst
the
fields
of
asphodel
,
and
in
the
eternal
peace
of
the
realm
of
Thanatos
.
Suddenly
her
eyes
fell
on
a
familiar
thing
,
a
little
picture
close
at
hand
,
the
picture
of
herself
amidst
the
poppies
.
She
leapt
from
the
bed
,
and
fell
