ina
netted
animal’s
impatient
but
untamed
regard
.
Pitchou
seized
and
searched
her
eagerly
,
stripping
her
of
her
warm
fox‐skin
wrap
,
her
scarlet
hood
of
wool
,
her
little
rough
hempen
shirt
,
which
were
all
dripping
with
the
water
from
the
melted
snow
.
The
skin
of
the
young
waif
was
brown
,
with
a
golden
bloom
on
it
;
it
had
been
tanned
by
hot
suns
,
but
it
was
soft
as
silk
in
texture
,
and
transparent
,
showing
the
course
of
each
blue
vein
.
Her
limbs
were
not
well
nourished
,
but
they
were
of
perfect
shaped
and
delicate
bone
;
and
the
feet
were
the
long
,
arched
,
slender
feet
of
the
southern
side
of
the
Pyrenees
.
She
allowed
herself
to
be
stripped
and
wrapped
in
a
coarse
piece
of
homespun
linen
;
she
was
still
half
frozen
,
and
in
a
state
of
stupor
,
either
from
amazement
or
from
fear
.
She
was
quite
passive
,
and
she
never
spoke
.
Her
apathy
deceived
the
old
crone
,
who
took
it
for
docility
,
and
who
,
trusting
to
it
,
proceeded
to
take
advantage
of
it
,
after
the
manner
of
her
kind
.
About
the
small
shapely
head
there
hung
a
band
of
glittering
coins
;
they
were
not
gold
,
but
the
woman
Pitchou
thought
they
were
,
and
seized
them
with
gloating
hands
and
ravenous
eyes
.
The
child
started
from
her
torpor
,
shook
herself
free
,
and
fought
to
guard
them
—
fiercely
,
with
tooth
and
nail
,
as
the
young
fox
whose
skin
she
had
worn
might
have
fought
for
its
dear
life
.
The
old
woman
on
her
side
strove
as
resolutely
;
long
curls
of
the
child’s
hair
were
clutched
in
the
struggle
;
she
did
not
wince
or
scream
,
but
she
fought
—
fought
with
all
the
breath
and
blood
that
were
in
her
tiny
body
.
She
was
no
match
,
with
all
her
ferocity
and
fury
,
for
the
sinewy
grip
of
the
old
peasant
;
and
the
coins
were
torn
off
her
forehead
and
hidden
away
in
a
hole
in
the
wood
,
out
of
her
sight
,
where
the
old
peasant
hoarded
all
her
precious
treasures
of
copper
coins
and
other
trifles
that
she
managed
to
secrete
from
her
master’s
all‐seeing
eyes
.
They
were
little
metal
sequins
engraved
with
Arabic
characters
,
chained
together
after
the
Eastern
fashion
.
To
Pitchou
they
looked
a
diadem
of
gold
worthy
of
an
empress
.
The
child
watched
them
thus
removed
in
perfect
silence
;
from
the
moment
they
had
been
wrenched
away
,
and
the
battle
had
been
finally
lost
to
her
,
she
had
ceased
to
struggle
,
as
though
disdainful
of
a
fruitless
contest
.
But
a
great
hate
gathered
in
her
eyes
,
and
smouldered
there
like
a
half‐stifled
fire
—
it
burnt
on
for
many
a
long
year
afterwards
,
unquenched
.
When
Pitchou
brought
her
a
cup
of
water
and
a
roll
of
bread
,
she
would
neither
eat
nor
drink
,
but
turned
her
face
to
the
wall
,
—
mute
.
“
Those
are
just
her
father’s
eyes
,
”
the
old
woman
muttered
.
She
had
seen
them
burn
in
the
gloom
of
the
evening
through
the
orchard
trees
,
as
the
stars
had
risen
,
and
Reine
Flamma
listened
to
the
voice
that
wooed
her
to
her
destruction
.
She
let
the
child
be
,
and
searched
her
soaked
garments
for
any
written
word
or
any
token
that
might
be
on
them
.
Fastened
roughly
to
the
fox’s
skin
there
was
a
faded
letter
.
Pitchou
could
not
read
;
she
took
it
to
her
master
.
Claudis
Flamma
grasped
the
paper
and
turned
its
superscription
to
the
light
of
the
lamp
.
He
could
not
read
,
by
yet
at
sight
of
the
characters
his
tough
frame
trembled
,
and
his
withered
skin
grew
red
with
a
sickly
,
feverish
quickening
of
the
blood
.
He
knew
them
.
Once
,
in
a
time
long
dead
,
he
had
been
proud
of
those
slender
letters
that
had
been
so
far
more
legible
than
any
that
the
women
of
her
class
could
pen
,
and
on
beholding
which
the
good
bishop
had
smiled
,
and
passed
a
pleasant
word
concerning
her
being
almost
fitted
to
be
his
own
clerk
and
scribe
.
For
a
moment
,
watching
those
written
cyphers
that
had
no
tongue
for
him
,
and
yet
seemed
to
tell
their
tale
so
that
they
scorched
and
withered
up
all
the
fair
honour
and
pious
peace
of
his
old
age
,
a
sudden
faintness
,
a
sudden
swooning
sense
seized
him
for
the
first
time
in
all
his
life
;
his
limbs
failed
him
,
he
sank
down
on
his
seat
again
,
he
gasped
for
breath
;
he
needed
not
to
be
told
anything
,
he
knew
all
.
He
knew
that
the
creature
whom
he
had
believed
so
pure
that
God
had
deemed
the
earth
unworthy
of
her
youth
was
—
his
throat
rattled
,
his
lips
were
covered
with
foam
,
his
ears
were
filled
with
a
rushing
,
hollow
sound
,
like
the
roaring
of
his
own
mill‐waters
in
a
time
of
storm
.
All
at
once
he
started
to
his
feet
,
and
glared
at
the
empty
space
of
the
dim
chamber
,
and
struck
his
hands
wildly
together
in
the
air
,
and
cried
aloud
:
“
She
was
a
saint
,
I
said
—
a
saint
!
A
saint
in
body
and
soul
!
And
I
thought
that
God
begrudged
her
,
and
held
her
too
pure
for
man
!
”
And
he
laughed
aloud
—
thrice
.
The
child
hearing
,
and
heavy
with
sleep
,
and
eagerly
desiring
warmth
,
as
a
little
frozen
beast
that
coils
itself
in
snow
to
slumber
into
death
,
startled
by
that
horrible
mirth
,
came
forward
.
The
shirt
fell
off
her
as
she
moved
.
Her
little
naked
limbs
glimmered
like
gold
in
the
dusky
light
;
her
hair
was
as
a
cloud
behind
her
;
her
little
scarlet
mouth
was
half
open
,
like
the
mouth
of
a
child
seeking
its
mother’s
kiss
;
her
great
eyes
,
dazzled
by
the
flame
,
flashed
and
burned
and
shone
like
stars
.
They
had
seen
the
same
face
ere
then
in
Calvados
.
She
came
straight
to
Claudis
Flamma
as
though
drawn
by
that
awful
and
discordant
laughter
,
and
by
that
leaping
ruddy
flame
upon
the
hearth
,
and
she
stretched
out
her
arms
and
muttered
a
word
and
smiled
,
a
little
dreamily
,
seeking
to
sleep
,
asking
to
be
caressed
,
desiring
she
knew
not
what
.
He
clenched
his
fist
,
and
struck
her
to
the
ground
.
She
fell
without
a
sound
.
The
blood
flowed
from
her
mouth
.
He
looked
at
her
where
she
lay
,
and
laughed
once
more
.
“
She
was
a
saint
!
—
a
saint
!
And
the
devil
begot
in
her
that
!
”
Then
he
went
our
across
the
threshold
and
into
the
night
,
with
the
letter
still
clenched
in
his
hand
.
The
snow
fell
,
the
storm
raged
,
the
earth
was
covered
with
ice
and
water
;
he
took
no
heed
,
but
passed
through
it
,
his
head
bare
and
his
eyes
blind
.
The
dog
let
him
go
forth
alone
,
and
waited
by
the
child
.
CHAPTER
III
.
ALL
night
long
he
was
absent
.
The
old
serving
woman
,
terrified
in
so
far
as
her
dull
brutish
nature
could
be
roused
to
fear
,
did
what
she
knew
,
what
she
dared
.
She
raised
the
little
wounded
naked
creature
,
and
carried
her
to
her
own
pallet
bed
;
restored
her
to
consciousness
by
such
rude
means
as
she
had
knowledge
of
,
and
staunched
the
flow
of
blood
.
She
did
all
this
harshly
,
as
it
was
her
custom
to
do
all
things
,
and
without
tenderness
or
even
pity
,
for
the
sight
of
this
stranger
was
unwelcome
to
her
,
and
she
also
had
guessed
the
message
of
that
unread
letter
.
The
child
had
been
stunned
by
the
blow
,
and
she
had
lost
some
blood
,
and
was
weakened
and
stupefied
and
dazed
;
yet
there
seemed
to
her
rough
nurse
no
peril
for
her
life
,
and
by
degrees
she
fell
into
a
feverish
,
tossing
slumber
,
sobbing
sometimes
in
her
sleep
,
and
crying
perpetually
on
the
unknown
name
of
Phratos
.
The
old
woman
Pitchou
stood
and
looked
at
her
.
She
,
who
had
always
known
the
true
story
of
the
disappearance
which
some
had
called
death
and
some
had
deemed
a
divine
interposition
,
had
seen
before
that
transparent
brown
skin
,
those
hues
in
cheeks
and
lips
like
the
carnation
leaves
,
that
rich
,
sun‐fed
,
dusky
beauty
,
those
straight
dark
brows
.
“
She
is
his
sure
enough
,
”
she
muttered
.
“
He
was
the
first
with
Reine
Flamma
.
I
wonder
has
he
been
the
last
.
”
And
she
went
down
the
stairs
chuckling
,
as
the
low
human
brute
will
at
any
evil
thought
.
The
mastiff
stayed
beside
the
child
.
She
went
to
the
fire
and
threw
more
wood
one
,
and
sat
down
again
to
her
spinning‐wheel
,
and
span
and
dozed
,
and
span
and
dozed
again
.
She
was
not
curious
:
to
her
,
possessing
that
thread
to
the
secret
of
the
past
,
which
her
master
and
her
townsfolk
had
never
held
,
it
all
seemed
natural
.
It
was
an
old
,
old
story
;
there
had
been
thousands
like
it
;
it
was
only
strange
because
Reine
Flamma
had
been
held
a
saint
.
The
hours
passed
on
;
the
lamp
paled
,
and
its
flame
at
last
died
out
;
in
the
loft
above
,
where
the
dog
watched
,
there
was
no
sound
;
the
old
woman
slumbered
undisturbed
,
unless
some
falling
ember
of
the
wood
aroused
her
.
She
was
not
curious
,
nor
did
she
care
how
the
child
fared
.
She
had
led
that
deadening
life
of
perpetual
labour
and
of
perpetual
want
in
which
the
human
animal
becomes
either
a
machine
or
a
devil
.
She
was
a
machine
;
put
to
what
use
she
might
be
—
to
spin
flax
,
to
card
wool
,
to
wring
a
pigeon’s
throat
,
to
bleed
a
calf
to
death
,
to
bake
or
stew
,
to
mumble
a
prayer
or
drown
a
kitten
,
it
was
all
one
to
her
.
If
she
had
a
preference
it
might
be
for
the
office
that
hurt
some
living
thing
;
but
she
did
not
care
;
all
she
heeded
was
whether
she
had
pottage
enough
to
eat
at
noonday
,
and
the
leaden
effigy
of
her
Mary
safe
round
her
throat
at
night
.
The
night
went
on
,
and
passed
away
;
one
gleam
of
dawn
shone
through
a
round
hole
in
the
shutter
;
she
wakened
with
a
start
to
find
the
sun
arisen
,
and
the
fire
dead
upon
the
hearth
.
She
shook
herself
and
stamped
her
chill
feet
upon
the
bricks
,
and
tottered
on
her
feeble
way
,
with
frozen
body
,
to
the
house
door
.
She
drew
it
slowly
open
,
and
saw
by
the
light
of
the
sun
that
it
had
been
for
some
time
morning
.
The
earth
was
everywhere
thick
with
snow
;
a
hoar
frost
sparkled
over
all
the
branches
;
great
sheets
of
ice
were
whirled
down
the
rapid
mill‐stream
;
in
one
of
the
leafless
boughs
a
robin
sang
,
and
beneath
the
bough
a
cat
was
crouched
,
waiting
with
hungry
eager
eyes
,
patient
even
in
its
famished
impatience
.
Dull
as
her
sympathy
was
,
and
slow
her
mind
,
she
started
as
she
saw
her
master
there
.
Claudis
Flamma
was
at
work
;
the
rough
,
hard
,
rude
toil
which
he
spared
to
himself
no
more
than
to
those
who
were
his
hirelings
.
He
was
carting
wood
;
going
to
and
fro
with
huge
limbs
of
trees
that
men
in
youth
would
have
found
it
a
severe
task
to
move
;
he
was
labouring
breathlessly
,
giving
himself
no
pause
,
and
the
sweat
was
on
his
brow
,
although
he
trod
ankle
deep
in
snow
,
and
although
his
clothes
were
heavy
with
icicles
.
He
did
not
see
or
hear
her
;
she
went
up
to
him
and
called
him
by
name
;
he
started
,
and
raised
his
head
and
looked
at
her
.
Dull
though
she
was
,
she
was
in
a
manner
frightened
by
the
change
upon
his
face
;
it
had
been
lean
,
furrowed
,
weather‐beaten
always
,
but
it
was
livid
now
,
with
bloodshot
eyes
,
and
a
bruised
,
broken
,
yet
withal
savage
look
that
terrified
her
.
He
did
not
speak
,
but
gazed
at
her
like
a
man
recalled
from
some
drugged
sleep
back
to
the
deeds
and
memories
of
the
living
world
.
The
old
woman
held
her
peace
a
few
moments
;
then
spoke
out
in
her
own
blunt
,
dogged
fashion
.
“
Is
she
to
stay
?
”
Her
mind
was
not
awake
enough
for
any
curiosity
;
she
only
cared
to
know
if
the
child
stayed
:
only
so
much
as
would
concern
her
soup
kettle
,
her
kneaded
dough
,
her
spun
hemp
,
her
household
labour
.
He
turned
for
a
second
with
the
gesture
that
a
trapped
fox
may
make
,
held
fast
,
yet
striving
to
essay
a
death
grip
;
then
he
checked
himself
,
and
gave
a
mute
sign
of
assent
,
and
heaved
up
a
fresh
log
of
wood
,
and
went
on
with
his
labours
,
silently
.
She
knew
of
old
his
ways
too
well
to
venture
to
ask
more
.
She
knew
,
too
,
that
when
he
worked
like
this
,
fasting
and
in
silence
,
there
had
been
long
and
fierce
warfare
in
his
soul
,
and
some
great
evil
done
for
which
he
sought
to
make
atonement
.
So
she
left
him
,
and
passed
in
to
the
house
,
and
built
up
afresh
her
fire
,
and
swept
her
chamber
out
,
and
fastened
up
her
round
black
pot
to
boil
,
and
muttered
all
the
while
,
—
“
Another
mouth
to
feed
;
another
breast
to
tend
.
”
And
the
thing
was
bitter
to
her
;
because
it
gave
trouble
and
took
food
.
Now
,
what
the
letter
had
been
,
or
who
had
deciphered
it
for
him
,
Claudis
Flamma
never
told
to
any
man
;
and
from
the
little
strange
creature
no
utterance
could
be
ever
got
.
But
the
child
who
had
come
in
the
night
and
the
snow
tarried
at
Yprès
from
that
time
thenceforward
.
Claudis
Flamma
nourished
,
sheltered
,
clothed
her
;
but
he
did
all
these
begrudgingly
,
harshly
,
scantily
;
and
he
did
all
these
with
an
acrid
hate
and
scorn
,
which
did
not
cease
,
but
rather
grew
with
time
.
The
blow
which
had
been
her
earliest
welcome
was
not
the
first
that
she
received
from
him
by
many
;
and
whilst
she
was
miserable
exceedingly
,
she
showed
it
,
not
as
children
do
,
but
rather
like
some
chained
and
untamed
animal
,
in
fearless
stupor
and
in
sudden
,
sharp
ferocity
.
And
this
the
more
because
she
spoke
but
a
very
few
words
of
the
language
of
the
people
amongst
whom
she
had
been
brought
;
her
own
tongue
was
one
full
of
round
vowels
and
strange
sounds
,
a
tongue
unknown
to
them
.
For
many
weeks
he
said
not
one
word
to
her
,
cast
not
one
look
at
her
;
he
let
her
lead
the
same
life
that
was
led
by
the
beetles
that
crawled
in
the
timbers
,
or
by
the
pigs
that
couched
and
were
kicked
in
the
straw
.
The
woman
Pitchou
gave
her
such
poor
scraps
of
garments
or
of
victuals
as
she
chose
;
she
could
crouch
in
the
corner
of
the
hearth
where
the
fire
warmth
reached
;
she
could
sleep
in
the
hay
in
the
little
loft
under
the
roof
;
so
much
she
could
do
and
no
more
.
After
that
first
moment
in
which
her
vague
appeal
for
pity
and
for
rest
had
been
answered
by
the
blow
that
struck
her
senseless
,
the
child
had
never
made
a
moan
,
nor
sought
for
any
solace
.
All
the
winter
through
she
lay
curled
up
on
the
tiles
by
the
fence
,
with
her
arms
round
the
great
body
of
the
dog
and
his
head
upon
her
chest
;
they
were
both
starved
,
beaten
,
kicked
,
and
scourged
,
with
brutal
words
oftentimes
;
they
had
the
community
of
misfortune
,
and
they
loved
one
another
.
The
blow
on
her
head
,
the
coldness
of
the
season
,
the
scanty
food
that
was
cast
to
her
,
all
united
to
keep
her
brain
stupefied
and
her
body
almost
motionless
.
She
was
like
a
young
bear
that
is
motherless
,
wounded
,
frozen
,
famished
,
but
which
,
coiled
in
an
almost
continual
slumber
,
keeps
its
blood
flowing
and
its
limbs
alive
.
And
,
like
the
bear
,
with
the
spring
she
awakened
.
When
the
townsfolk
and
the
peasants
came
to
the
mill
,
and
first
saw
this
creature
there
,
with
her
wondrous
vivid
hues
,
and
her
bronzed
half‐naked
limbs
,
they
regarded
her
in
amazement
,
and
asked
the
miller
whence
she
came
.
He
set
his
teeth
,
and
answered
ever
:
“
The
woman
that
bore
her
was
Reine
Flamma
.
”
The
avowal
was
a
penance
set
to
himself
,
but
to
it
he
never
added
more
;
and
they
feared
his
bitter
temper
and
his
caustic
tongue
too
greatly
to
press
it
on
him
,
or
even
to
ask
him
whether
his
daughter
were
with
the
living
or
the
dead
.
With
the
unfolding
of
the
young
leaves
,
and
the
loosening
of
the
frost‐bound
waters
,
and
the
unveiling
of
the
violet
and
the
primrose
under
the
shadows
of
the
wood
,
all
budding
life
revives
,
and
so
did
hers
.
For
she
could
escape
from
the
dead
,
cold
,
bitter
atmosphere
of
the
silent
and
loveless
house
,
where
her
bread
was
begrudged
,
and
the
cudgel
was
her
teacher
,
out
into
the
freshness
and
the
living
sunshine
of
the
young
blossoming
world
,
where
the
birds
and
the
beasts
and
the
tender
blue
flowers
and
the
curling
green
boughs
were
her
comrades
,
and
where
she
could
stretch
her
limbs
in
freedom
,
and
coil
herself
among
the
branches
,
and
steep
her
limbs
in
the
coolness
of
waters
,
and
bathe
her
aching
feet
in
the
moisture
of
rain‐filled
grasses
.
With
the
spring
she
arose
,
the
true
forest
animal
she
was
;
wild
,
fleet
,
incapable
of
fear
,
sure
of
foot
,
in
unison
with
all
the
things
of
the
earth
and
air
,
and
stirred
by
them
to
a
strange
,
dumb
,
ignorant
,
passionate
gladness
.
She
had
been
scarce
seen
in
the
winter
;
with
the
breaking
of
the
year
the
people
from
more
distant
places
,
who
rode
their
mules
down
to
mill
on
their
various
errands
,
stared
at
this
child
and
wondered
amongst
themselves
greatly
,
and
at
length
asked
Claudis
Flamma
whence
she
came
.
He
answered
ever
,
setting
hard
his
teeth
:
“
The
woman
that
bore
her
was
one
accursed
,
whom
men
deemed
a
saint
—
Reine
Flamma
.
”
They
dared
not
ask
him
more
;
for
many
were
his
debtors
.
But
when
they
went
away
,
and
gossiped
amongst
themselves
by
the
wayside
well
or
under
the
awnings
of
the
market
stalls
,
they
said
to
one
another
that
it
was
just
as
they
had
thought
long
ago
;
the
creature
had
been
no
better
than
her
kind
;
and
they
had
never
credited
the
fable
that
God
had
taken
her
,
though
they
had
humoured
the
miller
because
he
was
aged
and
in
his
dotage
.
Whilst
one
old
woman
,
a
withered
and
witch‐like
crone
,
who
had
toiled
in
from
the
fishing
village
with
a
kreel
upon
her
back
and
the
smell
of
the
sea
about
her
rags
,
heard
,
standing
in
the
market‐place
,
and
laughed
,
and
mocked
them
,
these
seers
who
were
so
wise
after
the
years
had
gone
,
and
when
the
truth
was
clear
.
“
You
knew
,
you
knew
,
you
knew
!
”
she
echoed
,
with
a
grin
upon
her
face
.
“
Oh
yes
!
you
were
so
wise
!
Who
,
seven
years
through
,
said
that
Reine
Flamma
was
a
saint
,
and
taken
by
the
saints
into
their
keeping
?
And
who
hissed
at
me
for
a
foul‐mouthed
crone
when
I
said
that
the
devil
had
more
to
do
with
her
than
the
good
God
,
and
that
the
black‐browed
gipsy
,
with
jewels
for
eyes
in
his
head
,
like
the
toad
,
was
the
only
master
to
whom
she
gave
herself
?
Oh‐hè
,
you
were
so
wise
!
”
She
mocked
them
,
and
they
were
ashamed
,
and
held
their
peace
;
well
knowing
that
indeed
no
creature
amongst
them
had
ever
been
esteemed
so
pure
,
so
chaste
,
and
so
honoured
of
heaven
as
had
been
the
miller’s
daughter
.
Many
remembered
the
“
gipsy
with
the
jewelled
eyes
,
”
and
was
those
brilliant
,
fathomless
,
midnight
eyes
reproduced
in
the
small
rich
face
of
the
child
whom
Reine
Flamma
,
as
her
own
father
said
,
had
borne
in
shame
whist
they
had
been
glorifying
her
apotheosis
.
And
it
came
to
be
said
,
as
time
went
on
,
that
this
unknown
stranger
had
been
the
fiend
himself
,
taking
human
shape
for
the
destruction
of
one
pure
soul
,
and
the
confusion
of
all
true
children
of
the
church
.
Legend
and
tradition
still
held
fast
their
minds
in
this
remote
,
ancient
,
and
priest‐ridden
place
;
in
their
belief
the
devil
was
still
a
living
power
,
traversing
the
earth
and
air
in
search
of
souls
,
and
not
seldom
triumphing
:
of
metaphor
or
myth
they
were
not
ignorant
;
Satan
to
them
was
a
personality
,
terrific
,
and
oftentimes
irresistible
,
assuming
at
will
shapes
grotesque
or
awful
,
human
or
spiritual
.
Their
forefathers
had
beheld
him
;
why
not
they
?
So
the
henhucksters
and
poulterers
,
the
cider
makers
and
tanners
,
the
fisherfolk
from
the
sea‐board
,
and
the
peasant
proprietors
from
the
country
round
,
came
at
length
in
all
seriousness
to
regard
the
young
child
at
Yprès
as
a
devil‐born
thing
.
“
She
was
hell‐begotten
,
”
they
would
mutter
,
when
they
saw
her
;
and
they
would
cross
themselves
,
and
avoid
her
if
they
could
.
The
time
had
gone
by
,
unhappily
,
as
they
considered
,
when
men
had
been
permitted
to
burn
such
creatures
as
this
;
they
knew
it
and
were
sorry
for
it
;
the
world
,
they
thought
,
had
been
better
when
Jews
had
blazed
like
torches
,
and
witches
had
crackled
like
firewood
;
such
treats
were
forbidden
now
,
they
knew
,
but
many
,
for
all
that
,
thought
within
themselves
that
it
was
a
pity
it
should
be
so
,
and
that
it
was
mistaken
mercy
in
the
age
they
lived
in
which
forbade
the
purifying
of
the
earth
by
fire
of
such
as
she
.
In
the
winter
time
,
when
they
first
saw
her
,
unusual
floods
swept
the
country
,
and
destroyed
much
of
their
property
;
in
the
spring
which
followed
there
were
mildew
and
sickness
everywhere
:
in
the
summer
there
was
a
long
drought
,
and
by
consequence
there
came
a
bad
harvest
,
and
great
suffering
and
scarcity
.
There
were
not
a
few
in
the
district
who
attributed
all
these
woes
to
the
advent
of
the
child
of
darkness
,
and
who
murmured
openly
in
their
huts
and
homesteads
that
no
good
would
befall
them
so
long
as
this
offspring
of
hell
were
suffered
in
their
midst
.
Since
,
however
,
the
time
was
past
when
the
broad
market‐place
could
have
been
filled
with
a
curious
,
breathless
,
eager
crowd
,
and
the
grey
cathedral
have
grown
red
in
the
glare
of
flames
fed
by
a
young
living
body
,
they
held
their
hands
from
doing
her
harm
,
and
said
these
things
only
in
their
own
ingle‐nooks
,
and
contented
themselves
with
forbidding
their
children
to
consort
with
her
,
and
with
drawing
their
mules
to
the
other
side
of
the
road
when
they
met
her
.
They
did
not
mean
to
be
cruel
;
they
only
acted
in
their
own
self‐defence
,
and
dealt
with
her
as
their
fellow‐countrymen
dealt
with
a
cagote
—
“
only
.
”
Hence
,
when
,
with
the
reviving
year
the
child’s
dulled
brain
awakened
,
and
all
the
animal
activity
in
her
sprang
into
vigorous
action
,
she
found
herself
shunned
,
marked
,
and
glanced
at
with
averted
looks
of
mingled
dread
and
scorn
.
“
A
daughter
of
the
devil
!
”
she
heard
again
and
again
muttered
as
they
passed
her
;
she
grew
to
take
shelter
in
this
repute
as
in
a
fortress
,
and
to
be
proud
,
with
a
savage
pride
,
of
her
imputed
origin
.
It
made
her
a
little
fierce
,
mute
,
fearless
,
reckless
,
all‐daring
,
and
all
enduring
animal
.
An
animal
in
her
ferocities
,
her
mute
instincts
,
her
supreme
patience
,
her
physical
perfectness
of
body
and
of
health
.
Perfect
of
shape
and
hue
;
full
of
force
to
resist
;
ignorant
either
of
hope
or
fear
;
de‐
siring
only
one
thing
,
liberty
;
with
no
knowledge
,
but
with
unerring
instinct
.
She
was
at
an
age
when
happier
creatures
have
scarce
escaped
from
their
mother’s
arms
;
but
she
had
not
even
thus
early
a
memory
of
her
mother
,
and
she
had
been
shaken
off
to
live
or
die
,
to
fight
or
famish
,
as
a
young
fox
whose
dam
has
been
flung
to
the
hounds
is
driven
away
to
starve
in
the
winter
woods
,
or
save
himself
,
if
he
have
strength
,
by
slaughter
.
She
was
a
tame
animal
only
in
one
thing
:
—
she
took
blows
uncomplainingly
,
and
as
though
comprehending
that
they
were
her
inevitable
portion
.
“
The
child
of
the
devil
!
”
they
said
.
In
a
dumb
,
half
unconscious
fashion
,
this
five‐year‐old
creature
wondered
sometimes
why
the
devil
had
not
been
good
enough
to
give
her
a
skin
that
would
not
feel
,
and
veins
that
would
not
bleed
.
She
had
always
been
beaten
ever
since
her
birth
;
she
was
beaten
here
;
she
thought
it
a
law
of
life
,
as
other
children
think
it
such
to
have
their
mother’s
kiss
and
their
daily
food
and
nightly
prayer
.
Claudis
Flamma
did
after
his
manner
his
duty
by
her
.
She
was
to
him
a
thing
accursed
,
possessed
,
loathsome
,
imbued
with
evil
from
her
origin
;
but
he
did
what
he
deemed
his
duty
.
He
clothe
her
,
if
scantily
;
he
fed
her
,
if
meagrely
;
he
lashed
her
with
all
the
caustic
gibes
that
came
naturally
to
his
tongue
;
he
set
her
hard
tasks
to
keep
her
from
idleness
;
he
beat
her
when
she
did
not
,
and
not
seldom
when
she
did
,
them
.
He
dashed
holy
water
on
her
many
times
;
and
used
a
stick
to
her
without
mercy
.
After
this
light
he
did
his
duty
.
That
he
should
hate
her
,
was
to
fulfil
a
duty
also
in
his
eyes
;
he
had
always
been
told
that
it
was
right
to
abhor
the
things
of
darkness
;
and
to
him
she
was
a
thing
of
utter
darkness
,
a
thing
born
of
the
black
ruin
of
a
stainless
soul
,
begotten
by
the
pollution
and
corruption
of
an
infernal
tempter
.
He
never
questioned
her
as
to
her
past
—
that
short
past
,
like
the
span
of
an
insect’s
life
,
which
yet
had
sufficed
to
gift
her
with
passions
,
with
instincts
,
with
desires
,
even
with
memories
,
—
in
a
word
,
with
character
:
—
a
character
he
could
neither
change
nor
break
;
a
thing
formed
already
,
for
good
or
for
evil
,
abidingly
.
He
never
spoke
to
her
except
in
sharp
irony
or
in
curt
command
.
He
set
her
hard
tasks
of
bodily
labour
which
she
did
not
dispute
,
but
accomplished
so
far
as
her
small
strength
lay
,
with
a
mute
dogged
patience
,
half
ferocity
,
half
passiveness
.
In
those
first
winter
days
of
her
arrival
he
called
her
Folle‐Farine
;
taking
the
most
worthless
,
the
most
useless
,
the
most
abject
,
the
most
despised
thing
he
knew
in
all
his
daily
life
from
which
to
name
her
;
and
the
name
adhered
to
her
,
and
was
the
only
one
by
which
she
was
ever
known
.
Folle‐Farine
!
—
as
one
may
say
,
the
Dust
.
In
time
she
grew
to
believe
that
it
was
really
hers
;
even
as
in
time
she
began
to
forget
that
strange
,
deep
,
rich
tongue
in
which
she
had
babbled
her
first
words
,
and
to
know
no
other
tongue
than
the
Norman‐French
about
her
.
Yet
in
her
there
existed
imagination
,
tenderness
,
gratitude
,
and
a
certain
wild
and
true
nobility
,
though
the
old
man
Flamma
would
never
have
looked
for
them
,
never
have
believed
in
them
.
She
was
devil
born
:
she
was
of
devil
nature
in
his
eyes
.
Upon
his
mill‐ditch
,
foul
and
fœtid
,
refuse
would
sometimes
gather
,
and
receiving
the
seed
of
the
lily
,
would
give
birth
to
blossoms
born
stainless
out
of
corruption
:
but
the
allegory
had
no
meaning
for
him
.
Had
any
one
pointed
it
out
to
him
he
would
have
taken
the
speaker
into
his
orchard
,
and
said
:
“
Will
the
crab
bear
a
fruit
not
bitter
?
Will
the
nightshade
give
out
sweetness
and
honey
?
Fool
!
—
as
the
stem
so
the
branch
,
as
the
sap
so
the
blossom
.
”
And
this
fruit
of
sin
and
shame
was
poison
in
his
sight
.
CHAPTER
IV
.
THE
little
dim
mind
of
the
five‐year‐old
child
was
not
a
blank
;
it
was
indeed
filled
to
overflowing
with
pictures
of
a
country
that
her
tongue
could
not
have
told
of
,
even
had
she
spoken
the
language
of
the
people
amidst
whom
she
had
been
cast
.
A
land
altogether
unlike
that
in
which
she
had
been
set
down
on
that
bitter
night
of
snow
and
storm
:
a
land
noble
and
wild
,
and
full
of
colour
,
broken
into
vast
heights
and
narrow
valleys
,
clothed
with
green
beechwoods
and
with
forests
of
oak
and
of
walnut
,
filled
with
the
noise
of
torrents
leaping
from
crag
to
crag
,
and
of
brown
mountain
streams
rushing
,
broad
and
angry
,
through
wooded
ravines
.
A
land
made
beautiful
by
moss‐grown
water‐mills
,
and
lofty
greenways
of
grey
rock
;
and
still
shadowy
pools
,
in
which
the
bright
fish
leaped
,
and
mules’
bells
that
rang
drowsily
through
leafy
gorges
;
and
limestone
crags
that
pierced
the
clouds
,
spire‐like
,
and
fantastic
in
a
thousand
shapes
;
and
high
blue
crests
of
snow‐topped
mountains
,
whose
pinnacles
glowed
to
the
divinest
flush
of
rose
and
amber
with
the
setting
of
the
sun
.
This
land
she
remembered
vaguely
,
yet
gloriously
,
as
the
splendours
of
a
dream
of
Paradise
rest
on
the
brain
of
some
young
sleeper
wakening
in
squalor
,
cold
,
and
pain
.
But
the
people
of
the
place
she
had
been
brought
to
could
not
comprehend
her
few
,
shy
,
sullen
words
,
and
her
strange
imperfect
trills
of
song
;
and
she
could
not
tell
them
that
this
land
had
been
no
realm
enchanted
of
fairy
or
of
fiend
,
but
only
the
forest
region
of
the
Liébana
.
Thither
,
one
rich
autumn
day
,
a
tribe
of
Spanish
gypsies
had
made
their
camp
.
They
were
a
score
in
all
;
they
held
themselves
one
of
the
noblest
branches
of
their
wide
family
;
they
were
people
with
pure
Eastern
blood
in
them
,
and
all
the
grace
and
the
gravity
of
the
Oriental
in
their
forms
and
postures
.
They
stole
horses
and
sheep
;
they
harried
cattle
;
they
stopped
the
mules
in
the
passes
,
and
lightened
their
load
of
wine‐skins
:
they
entered
the
posada
,
when
they
deigned
to
enter
one
at
all
,
with
neither
civil
question
nor
show
of
purse
,
but
with
a
gleam
of
the
teeth
,
like
a
threatening
dog
,
and
the
flash
of
the
knife
,
half
drawn
out
of
the
girdle
.
They
were
low
thieves
and
mean
liars
;
wild
daredevils
and
loose
livers
;
loathers
of
labour
and
lovers
of
idle
days
and
plundering
nights
;
yet
they
were
beautiful
,
with
the
noble
,
calm
,
scornful
beauty
of
the
East
,
and
they
wore
their
rags
with
an
air
that
was
in
itself
an
empire
.
They
could
play
,
too
,
in
heavenly
fashion
,
on
their
old
three‐stringed
viols
;
and
when
their
woman
danced
on
the
sward
by
moonlight
,
under
the
broken
shadows
of
some
Moorish
ruin
,
clanging
high
their
tambourines
above
their
graceful
heads
,
and
tossing
the
shining
sequins
that
bound
their
heavy
hair
,
the
muleteer
or
the
herdsman
,
seeing
them
from
afar
,
shook
with
fear
,
and
thought
of
the
tales
told
him
in
his
childhood
by
his
grandam
of
the
spirits
of
the
dead
Moors
that
rose
to
revelry
,
at
midnight
,
in
the
haunts
of
their
old
lost
kingdom
.
Amongst
them
was
a
man
yet
more
handsome
than
the
rest
,
taller
and
lither
still
;
wondrous
at
leaping
and
wrestling
,
and
all
athletic
things
;
surest
of
any
to
win
a
woman
,
to
tame
a
horse
,
to
strike
down
a
bull
at
a
blow
,
to
silence
an
angry
group
at
a
wineshop
with
a
single
glance
of
his
terrible
eyes
.
His
name
was
Taric
.
He
had
left
them
often
to
wander
by
himself
into
many
countries
,
and
at
times
when
,
by
talent
or
by
terrorism
,
he
had
netted
gold
enough
to
play
the
fool
to
his
fancy
,
he
had
gone
to
some
strange
city
,
where
credulity
and
luxury
prevailed
,
and
there
had
lived
like
a
prince
,
as
his
own
phrase
ran
,
and
gamed
and
intrigued
,
and
feasted
,
and
roystered
right
royally
whilst
his
gains
lasted
.
Those
spent
,
he
would
always
return
awhile
,
and
lead
the
common
,
roving
,
thieving
life
of
his
friends
and
brethren
,
till
the
fit
of
ambition
or
the
run
of
luck
were
again
on
him
.
Then
his
people
would
afresh
lose
sight
of
him
to
light
on
him
,
velvet‐clad
,
and
wine‐bibbing
,
in
some
painter’s
den
in
some
foreign
town
,
or
welcomed
him
ragged
,
famished
,
and
foot‐weary
,
on
their
own
sunburnt
sierras
.
And
the
mystery
of
his
ways
endeared
him
to
them
;
and
they
made
him
welcome
whenever
he
returned
,
and
never
quarrelled
with
him
for
his
faithlessness
;
but
if
there
were
anything
wilder
or
wickeder
,
bolder
or
keener
,
on
hand
than
was
usual
,
his
tribe
would
always
say
—
“
Let
Taric
lead
.
”
One
day
their
camp
was
made
in
a
gorge
under
the
great
shadows
of
the
Picos
da
Europa
,
a
place
that
they
loved
much
,
and
settled
in
often
,
finding
the
chestnut
woods
and
the
cliff
caverns
fair
for
shelter
,
the
heather
abounding
in
grouse
,
and
the
pools
full
of
trout
,
fair
for
feeding
.
That
day
Taric
returned
from
a
year
‐long
absence
,
suddenly
standing
,
dark
and
mighty
,
between
them
and
the
light
,
as
they
lay
around
their
soup
kettle
,
awaiting
their
evening
meal
.
“
There
is
a
woman
in
labour
,
a
league
back
;
by
the
great
cork‐tree
,
against
the
bridge
;
”
he
said
to
them
.
“
Go
to
her
some
of
you
.
”
And
,
with
a
look
to
the
women
which
singled
out
two
for
the
errand
,
he
stretched
himself
in
the
warmth
of
the
fire
,
and
helped
himself
to
the
soup
,
and
lay
quiet
,
vouchsafing
them
never
a
word
,
but
playing
meaningly
with
the
knife
handle
thrust
into
this
shirt
;
for
he
saw
that
some
of
the
men
were
about
to
oppose
his
share
of
a
common
meal
which
he
had
not
earned
by
a
common
right
.
It
was
Taric
—
a
name
of
some
terror
came
to
their
fierce
souls
.
Taric
,
the
strongest
and
fleetest
and
most
well
favoured
of
them
all
;
Taric
,
who
had
slain
the
bull
that
all
the
matadors
had
failed
to
daunt
;
Taric
,
who
had
torn
up
the
young
elm
,
when
they
needed
a
bridge
over
a
flood
,
as
easily
as
a
child
plucks
up
a
reed
;
Taric
,
who
had
stopped
the
fiercest
contrabandista
in
all
those
parts
,
and
cut
the
man’s
throat
with
no
more
ado
than
a
butcher
slits
a
lamb’s
.
So
they
were
silent
,
and
let
him
take
his
portion
of
the
fire
and
of
the
broth
,
and
of
the
thin
red
wine
.
Meanwhile
the
two
gypsies
,
Quità
and
Zarâ
,
went
on
their
quest
,
and
found
things
as
he
had
said
.
Under
the
great
cork‐tree
,
where
the
grass
was
long
and
damp
,
and
the
wood
grew
thickly
,
and
an
old
rude
bridge
of
unhewn
blocks
of
rock
spanned
,
with
one
arch
,
the
river
as
it
rushed
downward
from
its
limestone
bed
aloft
,
they
found
a
woman
just
dead
,
and
a
child
just
born
.
Quità
looked
the
woman
all
over
hastily
,
to
see
if
,
by
any
chance
,
any
gold
or
jewels
might
be
one
her
;
there
were
none
.
There
was
only
an
ivory
cross
on
her
chest
,
which
Quità
drew
off
and
hid
.
Quità
covered
her
with
a
few
boughs
and
left
her
.
Zarâ
wrapped
the
child
in
a
bit
of
her
woolen
skirt
,
and
held
it
warm
in
her
breast
,
and
hastened
to
the
camp
with
it
.
“
She
is
dead
,
Taric
,
”
said
Quità
,
meaning
the
woman
she
had
left
.
He
nodded
his
handsome
head
.
“
This
is
yours
,
Taric
?
”
said
Zarâ
,
meaning
the
child
she
held
.
He
nodded
again
,
and
drank
another
drop
of
wine
,
and
stretched
himself
.
“
What
shall
we
do
with
her
?
”
asked
Quità
.
“
Let
her
lie
there
,
”
he
answered
her
.
What
shall
we
do
with
it
?
”
asked
Zarâ
.
He
laughed
,
and
drew
his
knife
against
own
brown
throat
in
a
significant
gesture
.
Zarâ
said
no
word
to
him
,
but
she
went
away
with
the
child
under
some
branches
,
on
which
was
hung
a
tattered
piece
of
awning
,
orange
striped
,
that
marked
her
own
especial
resting
place
.
Out
of
the
group
about
the
fire
,
one
man
,
rising
,
advanced
,
and
looked
Taric
full
in
the
eyes
.
“
Has
the
woman
died
by
foul
means
?
”
Taric
,
who
never
let
any
living
soul
molest
or
menace
him
,
answered
without
offence
,
and
with
a
savage
candour
.
“
No
—
that
I
swear
.
I
used
no
foul
play
against
her
.
Go
look
at
her
if
you
like
.
I
loved
hr
well
enough
while
she
lived
.
But
what
does
that
matter
?
She
is
dead
.
So
best
.
Women
are
as
many
as
the
mulberries
.
“
You
loved
her
,
and
you
will
let
the
wolves
eat
her
body
?
”
Taric
laughed
.
“
There
are
few
wolves
in
the
Liébana
.
Go
and
bury
her
if
you
choose
,
Phratos
.
”
“
I
will
,
”
the
other
answered
him
;
and
he
took
his
way
to
the
cork‐tree
by
the
bridge
.
The
man
who
spoke
was
called
Phratos
.
He
was
not
like
his
tribe
in
anything
:
except
in
a
mutual
love
for
a
life
that
wandered
always
,
and
was
to
no
man
responsible
,
and
needed
no
roof‐tree
,
and
wanted
no
settled
habitation
,
but
preferred
to
dwell
wild
with
the
roe
and
the
coney
,
and
to
be
hungry
and
unclad
,
rather
than
to
eat
the
good
things
of
the
earth
in
submission
and
in
durance
.
He
had
not
their
physical
perfection
:
an
accident
at
his
birth
had
made
his
spine
misshapen
,
and
his
gait
halting
.
His
features
would
have
been
grotesque
in
their
ugliness
,
except
for
the
sweet
pathos
of
the
eyes
and
the
gay
archness
of
the
mouth
.
Amongst
a
race
noted
for
its
singular
beauty
of
face
and
form
Phratos
alone
was
deformed
and
unlovely
;
and
yet
both
deformity
and
unloveliness
were
in
a
way
poetic
and
uncommon
;
and
in
his
rough
sheepskin
garments
,
knotted
to
his
waist
with
a
leathern
thong
,
and
with
his
thick
tangled
hair
falling
down
on
his
shoulders
,
they
were
rather
the
deformity
of
the
brake‐haunting
faun
,
the
unloveliness
of
the
moon‐dancing
satyr
,
than
those
of
a
man
and
a
vagrant
.
With
the
likeness
he
had
the
temper
of
the
old
dead
gods
of
the
forest
and
rivers
;
he
loved
music
,
and
could
make
it
,
in
all
its
innumerable
signs
and
songs
,
give
a
voice
to
all
creatures
and
things
of
the
world
,
of
the
waters
and
the
woodlands
;
and
for
many
things
he
was
sorrowful
continually
,
and
for
other
things
he
for
ever
laughed
and
was
glad
.
Though
he
was
misshapen
,
and
even
,
as
some
said
,
not
altogether
straight
in
his
wits
,
yet
his
kin
honoured
him
.
For
he
could
draw
music
from
the
rude
strings
of
his
old
viol
that
surpassed
their
own
melodies
as
far
as
the
shining
of
the
sun
on
the
summits
of
the
Europa
surpassed
the
trembling
of
the
little
lamps
under
the
painted
road‐side
Calvaries
.
He
was
only
a
gypsy
;
he
only
played
as
the
fancy
moved
him
,
by
a
bright
fountain
at
a
noonday
halt
,
under
the
ruined
arches
of
a
Saracenic
temple
;
before
the
tawny
gleam
of
a
vast
dim
plain
at
sunrise
;
in
a
cool
shadowy
court
,
where
the
vines
shut
out
all
light
;
;
beneath
a
balcony
at
night
,
when
the
moonbeams
gleamed
on
some
fair
unknown
face
,
thrust
for
a
moment
from
the
darkness
through
the
white
magnolia
flowers
.
Yet
he
played
in
suchwise
as
makes
women
weep
,
and
holds
children
and
dogs
still
to
listen
,
and
moves
grown
men
to
shade
their
eyes
with
their
hands
,
and
think
of
old
dead
times
,
when
they
played
and
prayed
at
their
mothers’
knees
.
And
his
music
had
so
spoken
to
himself
that
,
although
true
to
his
tribe
and
all
their
traditions
,
loving
the
vagrant
life
in
the
open
air
,
and
being
incapable
of
pursuing
any
other
,
he
yet
neither
stole
nor
slew
,
neither
tricked
nor
lied
,
but
found
his
way
vaguely
to
honesty
and
candour
,
and
,
having
found
them
,
clove
to
them
,
so
that
none
could
turn
him
:
living
on
such
scant
gains
as
were
thrown
to
him
for
his
music
from
balconies
and
posada
windows
and
wine‐
house
doors
in
the
hamlets
and
towns
through
which
he
passed
,
and
making
a
handful
of
pulse
and
a
slice
of
melon
,
a
couch
of
leaves
and
a
draught
of
water
,
suffice
to
him
for
his
few
and
simple
wants
.
His
people
reproached
him
,
indeed
,
with
demeaning
their
race
by
taking
payment
in
lieu
of
making
thefts
;
and
they
mocked
him
often
,
and
taunted
him
,
though
in
a
manner
they
all
loved
him
,
—
the
reckless
and
bloodstained
Taric
most
,
perhaps
,
of
all
.
But
he
would
never
quarrel
with
them
,
neither
would
he
give
over
his
strange
ways
which
so
incensed
them
,
and
with
time
they
saw
that
Phratos
was
a
gifted
fool
,
who
like
other
mad
simple
creatures
,
had
best
be
left
to
go
on
his
own
way
unmolested
and
without
contradiction
.
If
,
too
,
they
had
driven
him
from
their
midst
,
they
would
have
missed
his
music
sorely
;
that
music
which
awoke
them
at
break
of
day
soaring
up
through
their
roof
of
chestnut
leaves
like
a
lark’s
song
piercing
the
skies
.
Phratos
came
now
to
the
dead
woman
,
and
drew
off
the
boughs
,
and
looked
at
her
.
She
was
quite
dead
.
She
had
died
where
she
had
first
sunk
down
,
unable
to
reach
her
promised
resting
place
.
It
was
a
damp
green
nook
on
the
edge
of
the
bright
mountain
river
,
at
the
entrance
of
that
narrow
gorge
in
which
the
encampment
had
been
made
.
The
face
,
which
was
white
and
young
,
lay
upward
,
with
the
shadows
of
the
flickering
foliage
on
it
;
and
the
eyes
,
which
Quità
had
not
closed
,
were
large
and
blue
;
her
hair
,
which
was
long
and
brown
,
was
loose
,
and
had
got
wet
amongst
the
grass
,
and
had
little
buds
of
flowers
and
stray
golden
leaves
twisted
in
it
.
Phratos
felt
sorrow
for
her
as
he
looked
.
He
could
imagine
her
history
.
Taric
,
whom
many
women
had
loved
,
had
besought
many
a
one
thus
to
share
his
fierce
free
life
for
a
little
space
,
and
then
drift
away
out
of
it
by
chance
,
or
be
driven
away
from
it
by
his
fickle
passions
,
or
be
taken
away
like
this
woman
by
death
.
In
her
bosom
,
slipped
in
her
clothes
,
was
a
letter
.
It
was
written
in
a
tongue
he
did
not
know
.
He
held
it
awhile
,
thinking
,
then
he
folded
it
up
and
put
it
in
his
girdle
,
—
it
might
be
of
use
,
who
could
tell
?
There
was
the
child
,
there
,
that
might
live
;
unless
the
camp
broke
up
and
Zarâ
left
it
under
a
walnut
tree
to
die
,
with
the
last
butterflies
of
the
fading
summer
,
which
was
in
all
likelihood
all
she
would
do
.
Nevertheless
he
kept
the
letter
,
and
when
he
had
looked
long
enough
at
the
dead
creature
,
he
turned
to
the
tools
he
had
brought
with
him
,
and
set
patiently
to
make
her
grave
.
He
could
only
work
slowly
,
for
he
was
weak
of
body
,
and
his
infirmity
made
all
manual
toil
painful
to
him
.
His
task
was
hard
,
even
though
the
earth
was
so
soft
from
recent
heavy
rains
.
The
sun
set
whist
he
was
still
engaged
on
it
;
and
it
was
quite
nightfall
before
he
had
fully
accomplished
it
.
When
the
grave
was
ready
he
filled
it
carefully
with
the
golden
leaves
that
had
fallen
,
and
the
thick
many‐coloured
mosses
that
covered
the
ground
like
a
carpet
.
Then
he
laid
the
body
tenderly
down
within
that
forest
shroud
,
and
,
with
the
moss
like
a
winding
sheet
between
it
and
the
earth
which
had
to
fall
on
it
,
he
committed
the
dead
woman
to
her
resting
place
.
It
did
not
seem
strange
to
him
,
or
awful
,
to
leave
her
there
.
He
was
a
gypsy
,
and
to
him
a
grave
under
a
forest
tree
and
by
a
mountain
stream
seemed
the
most
natural
rest
at
last
that
any
creature
could
desire
or
claim
.
No
rites
seemed
needful
to
him
.
and
no
sense
of
any
neglect
,
cruel
or
unfitting
,
jarred
on
him
in
thus
leaving
her
in
her
loneliness
,
with
only
the
cry
of
the
bittern
or
the
bell
of
the
wild
roe
as
a
requiem
.
Yet
a
certain
sorrow
for
this
unknown
and
lost
life
was
on
him
,
Bohemian
though
he
was
,
as
he
took
up
his
mattock
and
turned
away
,
and
went
backward
down
the
gorge
,
and
left
her
to
lie
there
for
ever
,
through
rain
and
sunshine
,
through
wind
and
storm
,
through
the
calm
of
the
summer
and
the
flush
of
autumn
,
and
the
wildness
of
the
winter
,
when
the
swollen
stream
should
sweep
above
her
tomb
,
and
the
famished
beasts
of
the
hills
would
lift
up
their
voices
around
it
.
When
he
reached
the
camp
,
he
gave
the
letter
to
Taric
.
Taric
,
knowing
the
tongue
it
was
written
in
,
and
being
able
to
understand
the
character
,
looked
at
it
,
and
read
it
through
by
the
light
of
the
flaming
wood
.
When
he
had
done
so
he
tossed
it
behind
,
in
among
the
boughs
,
in
scorn
.
“
The
poor
fool’s
prayer
to
the
brute
that
she
hated
!
”
he
said
,
with
a
scoff
.
Phratos
lifted
up
the
letter
and
kept
it
.
In
a
later
time
he
found
some
one
who
could
decipher
it
for
him
.
It
was
the
letter
of
Reine
Flamma
to
the
miller
at
Yprès
,
telling
him
the
brief
story
of
her
fatal
passion
,
and
imploring
from
him
mercy
to
her
unborn
child
should
it
survive
her
and
be
ever
taken
to
him
.
Remorse
and
absence
had
softened
to
her
the
harshness
and
the
meanness
of
her
father’s
character
;
she
only
remembered
that
he
had
loved
her
,
and
had
deemed
her
pure
and
faithful
as
the
saints
of
God
.
There
was
no
word
in
the
appeal
by
which
it
could
have
been
inferred
that
Claudis
Flamma
had
been
other
than
a
man
much
wronged
and
loving
much
,
patient
of
heart
,
and
without
blame
in
his
simple
life
.
Phratos
took
the
letter
and
cherished
it
.
He
thought
it
might
some
day
serve
her
offspring
.
This
old
man’s
vengeance
could
not
,
he
thought
,
be
so
cruel
to
the
child
as
might
be
the
curse
and
the
knife
of
Taric
.
“
She
must
have
been
beautiful
?
”
said
Phratos
to
him
,
after
a
while
,
that
night
;
“
and
you
care
no
more
for
her
than
that
.
”
Taric
stretched
his
mighty
limbs
in
the
warmth
of
the
flame
,
and
made
his
answer
:
“
There
will
be
as
good
grapes
on
the
vines
next
year
as
any
we
gathered
this
.
What
does
it
signify
?
—
she
was
only
a
woman
.
“
She
loved
me
;
she
thought
me
a
god
,
a
devil
,
a
prince
,
a
chief
,
—
all
manner
of
things
;
—
the
people
thought
so
,
too
.
She
was
sick
of
her
life
.
She
was
sick
of
the
priests
and
the
beads
,
and
the
mill
and
the
market
.
She
was
fair
to
look
at
,
and
the
fools
called
her
a
saint
.
When
a
woman
is
young
and
has
beauty
,
it
is
dull
to
be
worshipped
—
in
that
way
.
“
I
met
her
in
the
wood
one
summer
night
.
The
sun
was
setting
.
I
do
not
know
why
I
cared
for
her
—
I
did
.
She
was
like
a
tall
white
lily
;
these
women
of
ours
are
only
great
tawny
sunflowers
.
“
She
was
pure
and
straight
of
life
;
she
believed
in
heaven
and
hell
;
she
was
innocent
as
a
child
unborn
;
it
was
tempting
to
kill
all
that
.
It
is
so
easy
to
kill
it
when
a
woman
loves
you
.
I
taught
her
what
passion
and
freedom
and
pleasure
and
torment
all
meant
.
She
came
with
me
,
—
after
a
struggle
,
a
hard
one
.
I
kept
her
loyally
while
the
gold
lasted
;
that
I
swear
.
I
took
her
to
many
cities
.
I
let
her
have
jewels
and
music
,
and
silk
dresses
,
and
fine
linen
.
I
was
good
to
her
;
that
I
swear
.
“
But
after
a
bit
she
pined
,
and
grew
dull
again
,
and
wept
in
secret
,
and
at
times
I
caught
her
praying
to
the
white
cross
which
she
wore
on
her
breast
.
That
made
me
mad
.
I
cursed
her
and
beat
her
.
She
never
said
anything
;
she
seemed
only
to
love
me
more
,
and
that
made
me
more
mad
.
“
Then
I
got
poor
again
,
and
I
had
to
sell
her
things
one
by
one
.
Not
that
she
minded
that
,
she
would
have
sold
her
soul
for
me
.
We
wandered
north
and
south
;
and
I
made
money
sometimes
by
the
dice
,
or
by
breaking
a
horse
,
or
by
fooling
a
woman
,
or
by
snatching
a
jewel
off
one
of
their
dolls
in
their
churches
;
and
I
wanted
to
get
rid
of
her
,
and
I
could
not
tell
how
.
I
had
not
the
heart
to
kill
her
outright
.
“
But
she
never
said
a
rough
word
,
you
know
,
and
that
makes
a
man
mad
.
Maddalena
or
Kara
or
Rachel
—
any
of
them
,
—
would
have
flown
and
struck
a
knife
at
me
,
and
hissed
like
a
snake
,
and
there
would
have
been
blows
and
furious
words
and
bloodshed
;
and
then
we
should
have
kissed
,
and
been
lovers
again
,
fast
and
fierce
.
But
a
woman
who
is
quiet
,
and
only
looks
at
you
with
great
,
sad
,
soft
eyes
,
when
you
strike
her
,
—
what
is
one
to
do
?
“
We
were
horribly
poor
at
last
;
we
slept
in
barns
and
haylofts
;
we
ate
berries
and
drank
the
brook
water
.
She
grew
weak
,
and
could
hardly
walk
.
Many
I
time
I
have
been
tempted
to
let
her
lie
and
die
in
the
hedgeway
or
on
the
plains
,
and
I
did
not
,
—
one
is
so
foolish
sometimes
for
sake
of
a
woman
.
She
knew
she
was
a
burden
and
curse
to
me
,
—
I
may
have
said
so
,
perhaps
;
I
do
not
remember
.
“
At
last
I
heard
of
you
in
the
Liébana
,
from
a
tribe
we
fell
in
with
on
the
other
side
of
the
mountains
,
and
so
we
travelled
her
on
foot
.
I
thought
she
would
have
got
to
the
women
before
her
hour
arrived
.
But
she
fell
down
there
,
and
could
not
stir
;
and
so
the
end
came
.
It
is
best
as
it
is
.
She
was
wretched
,
and
what
could
I
do
with
a
woman
like
that
,
who
would
never
hearken
to
another
lover
,
nor
give
up
her
dead
God
on
his
cross
,
nor
take
so
much
as
a
broken
crust
if
it
were
stolen
,
nor
even
show
her
beauty
to
a
sculptor
to
be
carved
in
stone
—
for
I
tried
to
make
her
do
that
,
and
she
would
not
.
It
is
best
as
it
is
.
If
she
had
lived
we
could
have
done
nothing
with
her
.
And
yet
I
see
her
sometimes
as
I
saw
her
that
night
,
so
white
and
so
calm
,
in
the
little
green
wood
,
as
the
sun
set
—
”
His
voice
ceased
,
and
he
took
up
a
horn
full
of
vino
clarete
;
and
drained
it
,
and
was
very
still
,
stretching
his
limbs
to
bask
in
the
heat
of
the
fire
.
The
wine
had
loosened
his
tongue
,
and
he
had
spoken
from
his
heart
,
—
truthfully
.
Phratos
,
his
only
hearer
,
was
silent
.
He
was
thinking
of
the
great
blue
sightless
eyes
that
he
had
closed
,
and
of
the
loose
brown
hair
on
which
he
had
flung
the
wet
leaves
and
the
earth‐clogged
mosses
.
“
The
child
lives
?
”
he
said
,
at
length
.
Taric
,
who
was
sinking
to
sleep
after
the
long
fatigues
of
a
heavy
tramp
through
mountain
passes
,
stirred
sullenly
with
an
oath
.
“
Let
it
go
to
hell
,
”
he
made
answer
.
And
these
were
the
only
words
of
baptism
that
were
spoken
over
the
nameless
daughter
of
Taric
the
gypsy
and
of
Reine
Flamma
.
That
night
Phratos
called
out
to
him
in
the
moonlight
the
woman
Zarâ
,
who
came
from
under
her
tent
,
and
stood
under
the
glistening
leaves
,
strong
and
handsome
,
with
shining
eyes
and
snowy
teeth
.
“
The
child
lives
still
?
”
he
asked
.
Zarâ
nodded
her
head
.
“
You
will
try
and
keep
it
alive
?
”
he
pursued
.
She
shrugged
her
shoulders
.
“
What
is
the
use
?
Taric
would
rather
it
were
dead
.
”
“
What
matter
what
Taric
wishes
.
Living
or
dead
,
it
will
not
hinder
him
.
A
child
more
or
less
with
us
,
what
is
it
?
Only
a
draught
of
goat’s
milk
or
a
handful
of
meal
.
So
little
;
it
cannot
be
felt
.
You
have
a
child
of
your
own
,
Zarâ
:
you
cared
for
it
?
”
“
Yes
,
”
she
answered
,
with
a
sudden
softening
gleam
of
her
bright
savage
eyes
.
She
had
a
brown
,
strong
,
year‐old
boy
,
who
kicked
his
naked
limbs
on
