.Marcellin
,
although
he
had
asked
her
,
had
asked
needlessly
;
for
he
also
knew
.
“
And
what
,
think
you
,
the
people
said
when
they
went
back
and
found
the
cage
empty
?
”
he
pursued
,
still
echoing
his
words
and
hers
by
the
ringing
sound
of
the
falling
hammer
.
A
smile
curled
her
lips
.
“
That
was
no
though
of
mine
.
”
she
said
carelessly
.
“
They
had
done
wickedly
to
cage
him
;
to
set
him
free
I
would
have
pulled
down
their
thatch
,
or
stove
in
their
door
,
had
need
been
.
”
“
Good
!
”
said
the
old
man
briefly
,
with
a
gleam
of
light
over
his
harsh
lean
face
.
He
looked
up
at
her
as
he
worked
,
the
shivered
flints
flying
right
and
left
.
“
It
was
a
pity
to
make
you
a
woman
,
”
he
muttered
,
as
his
keen
gaze
swept
over
her
.
“
A
woman
!
”
She
echoed
the
words
dully
and
half
wonderingly
;
she
could
not
understand
it
in
connection
with
herself
.
A
woman
;
that
was
a
woman
who
sat
in
the
sun
under
the
fig
tree
,
working
her
lace
on
a
frame
;
that
was
a
woman
who
leaned
out
of
her
lattice
tossing
a
red
carnation
to
her
lover
;
that
was
a
woman
who
swept
the
open
porch
of
their
house
,
singing
as
she
cleared
the
dust
away
;
that
was
a
woman
who
strode
on
her
blithe
way
through
the
clover
,
carrying
her
child
at
her
breast
.
She
seemed
to
have
no
likeness
to
them
,
no
kindred
with
them
;
she
,
a
beast
of
burden
,
a
creature
soulless
and
homeless
;
an
animal
made
to
fetch
and
carry
,
to
be
cursed
and
beaten
,
to
know
neither
love
nor
hope
,
neither
past
nor
future
,
but
only
a
certain
dull
patience
and
furious
hate
,
a
certain
dim
pleasure
in
labour
and
indifference
to
pain
.
“
It
was
a
pity
to
make
you
a
woman
,
”
said
the
old
man
once
more
.
“
You
might
be
a
man
worth
something
;
but
a
woman
!
—
a
thing
that
has
no
medium
;
no
haven
between
hell
and
heaven
;
no
option
save
to
sit
by
the
hearth
to
watch
the
pot
boil
and
suckle
the
children
,
or
to
go
out
into
the
streets
and
the
taverns
to
mock
at
men
and
to
murder
them
.
Which
will
you
do
in
the
future
?
”
“
What
?
”
She
scarcely
knew
the
meaning
of
the
word
.
She
saw
that
the
female
creatures
round
her
were
of
all
shades
of
age
,
from
the
young
girls
with
their
peach‐like
cheeks
to
the
old
crones
brown
and
withered
as
last
year’s
nuts
;
she
knew
that
if
she
lived
on
she
would
be
old
likewise
;
but
of
a
future
she
had
no
conception
,
no
ideal
.
She
had
been
left
too
ignorant
to
have
visions
of
any
other
world
hereafter
than
this
one
which
the
low‐lying
green
hills
and
the
arc
of
the
pale
blue
sky
shut
in
upon
her
.
She
had
one
desire
,
indeed
—
a
desire
vague
yet
fierce
—
the
desire
for
liberty
.
But
it
was
such
desire
as
the
bird
which
she
had
freed
had
known
;
the
desire
of
instinct
,
the
desire
of
existence
,
only
;
her
mind
was
powerless
to
conceive
a
future
,
because
a
future
is
a
hope
,
and
of
hope
she
knew
nothing
.
The
old
man
glanced
at
her
,
and
saw
that
she
had
not
comprehended
.
He
smiled
with
a
certain
bitter
pity
.
“
I
spoke
idly
,
”
he
said
to
himself
;
“
slaves
cannot
have
a
future
.
But
yet
—
“
Yet
he
saw
that
the
creature
who
was
so
ignorant
of
her
own
powers
,
of
her
own
splendours
,
of
her
own
possibilities
,
had
even
now
a
beauty
as
great
as
that
of
a
lustrous
eastern‐eyed
passion‐flower
;
and
he
knew
that
to
a
woman
who
has
such
beauty
as
this
the
world
holds
out
in
its
hand
the
tender
of
at
least
one
future
—
one
election
,
one
kingdom
,
one
destiny
.
“
Women
are
loved
,
”
she
said
suddenly
;
“
will
any
one
love
me
?
”
Marcellin
smiled
bitterly
.
“
Many
will
love
you
,
doubtless
—
as
the
wasp
loves
the
peach
that
he
kisses
with
his
sting
,
and
leaves
rotten
to
drop
from
the
stem
!
”
She
was
silent
again
,
revolving
his
meaning
;
it
lay
beyond
her
,
both
in
the
peril
which
it
embodied
from
others
,
and
the
beauty
in
herself
which
it
implied
.
She
could
reach
no
conception
of
herself
,
save
as
what
she
now
was
,
a
body
servant
of
toil
,
a
beast
of
burden
like
a
young
mule
.
“
But
all
shun
me
,
as
even
the
wasp
shuns
the
bitter
oak
apple
,
”
she
said
,
slowly
and
dreamily
;
“
who
should
love
me
,
even
as
the
wasp
loves
the
peach
?
”
Marcellin
smiled
his
grim
and
shadowy
smile
.
He
made
answer
—
“
Wait
!
”
She
sat
mute
once
more
,
revolving
this
strange
,
brief
word
in
her
thoughts
—
strange
to
her
,
with
a
promise
as
vague
,
as
splendid
,
and
as
incomprehensible
as
the
prophecy
of
empire
to
a
slave
.
“
The
future
?
”
she
said
,
at
last
.
“
That
means
something
that
one
has
not
,
and
that
is
to
come
—
is
it
so
?
”
“
Something
that
one
never
has
,
and
that
never
comes
,
”
muttered
the
old
man
,
wearily
cracking
the
flints
in
two
;
“
something
that
one
possesses
in
one’s
sleep
,
and
that
is
farther
off
each
time
that
one
awakes
;
and
yet
a
thing
that
one
sees
always
—
sees
even
when
one
lies
a‐dying
,
they
say
—
for
men
are
fools
.
”
Folle‐Farine
listened
,
musing
,
with
her
hands
clasped
on
the
handles
of
her
empty
basket
,
and
her
chin
resting
upon
them
,
and
her
eyes
watching
a
maimed
butterfly
drag
its
wings
of
emerald
and
diamond
through
the
hot
,
pale
,
sickly
dust
.
“
I
dream
!
”
she
said
,
suddenly
,
as
she
stooped
and
lifted
the
wounded
insect
gently
on
to
the
edge
of
a
leaf
.
“
But
I
dream
wide
awake
.
”
Marcellin
smiled
.
“
Never
say
so
.
They
will
think
you
mad
.
That
is
only
what
foolish
things
,
called
poets
,
do
.
”
“
What
is
a
poet
?
”
“
A
foolish
thing
—
I
tell
you
—
mad
enough
to
believe
that
men
will
care
to
strain
their
eyes
,
as
he
strains
his
,
to
see
the
face
of
a
God
who
never
looks
and
never
listens
.
”
“
Ah
!
”
She
was
so
accustomed
to
be
told
,
that
all
she
did
was
unlike
to
others
,
and
was
either
wicked
or
was
senseless
,
that
she
saw
nothing
except
the
simple
statement
of
a
fact
in
the
rebuke
which
he
had
given
her
.
She
sat
quiet
,
gazing
down
into
the
thick
white
dust
of
the
road
,
bestirred
by
the
many
feet
of
mules
and
men
that
had
trodden
through
it
since
the
dawn
.
“
I
dream
beautiful
things
,
”
she
pursued
slowly
.
“
In
the
moonlight
most
often
.
I
seem
to
remember
,
when
I
dream
—
so
much
!
so
much
!
”
“
Remember
—
what
should
you
remember
?
You
were
but
a
baby
when
they
brought
you
hither
.
”
“
So
they
say
.
But
I
might
live
before
,
in
my
father’s
kingdom
.
In
the
devil’s
kingdom
?
Why
not
?
”
“
Why
not
,
indeed
!
Perhaps
we
all
lived
there
once
;
and
that
is
why
we
all
,
through
all
our
lives
,
hanker
to
get
back
to
it
!
”
“
I
ask
him
so
often
to
take
me
back
,
but
he
does
not
seem
ever
to
hear
.
”
“
Chut
!
He
will
hear
in
his
own
good
time
.
The
devil
never
passes
by
a
woman
.
”
“
A
woman
!
”
she
repeated
.
The
word
seemed
to
have
no
likeness
and
no
fitness
with
herself
.
A
woman
—
she
!
—
a
creature
made
to
be
beaten
,
and
worn
at
,
and
shunned
,
and
loaded
like
a
mule
,
and
driven
like
a
bullock
!
“
Look
you
,
”
said
the
old
man
,
resting
his
hammer
for
a
moment
,
and
wiping
the
sweat
from
his
brow
.
“
I
have
lived
in
this
vile
place
forty
years
.
I
remember
the
woman
that
they
say
bore
you
—
Reine
Flamma
.
She
was
a
beautiful
woman
,
and
pure
as
snow
,
and
noble
,
and
innocent
.
She
wearied
God
incessantly
.
I
have
seen
her
stretched
for
hours
at
the
foot
of
that
cross
.
She
was
wretched
;
and
she
entreated
her
God
to
take
away
her
monotonous
misery
,
and
to
give
her
some
life
new
and
fair
.
But
God
never
answered
.
He
left
her
to
herself
.
It
was
the
devil
that
heard
—
and
replied
.
”
“
Then
,
is
the
devil
juster
than
their
God
?
”
Marcellin
leaned
his
hammer
on
his
knee
,
and
his
voice
rose
clear
and
strong
;
as
it
had
rung
of
yore
from
the
tribune
.
“
He
looks
so
,
at
the
least
.
It
is
his
wisdom
,
and
that
is
why
his
following
is
so
large
.
Nay
,
I
say
,
when
God
is
deaf
the
devil
listens
.
“
That
is
his
wisdom
,
see
you
.
“
So
often
the
poor
little
weak
human
soul
,
striving
to
find
the
right
way
,
cries
feebly
for
help
,
and
none
answer
.
“
The
poor
little
weak
soul
is
blind
and
astray
in
the
busy
streets
of
the
world
.
“
It
lifts
its
voice
,
but
its
voice
is
so
young
and
so
feeble
,
like
the
pipe
of
a
newly‐born
bird
in
the
dawn
,
that
it
is
drowned
in
the
shouts
and
the
manifold
sounds
of
those
hard
,
crowded
,
cruel
streets
,
where
every
one
is
for
himself
,
and
no
man
has
ears
for
his
neighbour
.
It
is
hungered
,
it
is
athirst
,
it
is
sorrowful
,
it
is
blinded
,
it
is
perplexed
,
it
is
afraid
.
“
It
cries
often
,
but
God
and
man
leave
it
to
itself
.
“
Then
the
devil
,
who
hearkens
always
,
and
who
,
though
all
the
trumpets
blowing
their
brazen
music
in
the
streets
bray
in
his
honour
,
yet
is
too
wise
to
lose
even
the
slightest
sound
of
any
in
distress
—
since
of
such
are
the
largest
sheaves
of
his
harvest
—
comes
to
the
little
soul
,
and
teaches
it
with
tenderness
,
and
guides
it
towards
the
paths
of
gladness
,
and
fills
it
s
lips
with
the
bread
of
sweet
passions
,
and
its
nostrils
with
the
savour
of
fair
vanities
,
and
blows
in
its
ear
the
empty
breath
of
men’s
lungs
,
till
that
sickly
wind
seems
divinest
music
.
“
Then
is
the
soul
dazzled
and
captured
,
and
made
the
devil’s
for
evermore
;
half
through
its
innocence
,
half
through
its
weakness
;
but
chiefly
of
all
because
God
and
man
would
not
hear
its
cries
while
yet
it
was
sinless
and
only
astray
.
”
He
ceased
,
and
the
strokes
of
his
hammer
rang
again
on
the
sharp
flint
stones
.
She
had
listened
with
her
lips
parted
breathlessly
,
and
her
night‐like
eyes
dilated
.
In
the
years
of
his
youth
the
old
man
had
possessed
that
rare
power
which
can
tip
words
with
fire
,
and
send
them
burning
and
keen
into
the
coldest
heart
;
and
the
power
was
still
there
,
when
it
woke
up
from
the
stupor
of
a
life
of
toil
,
and
the
silence
of
a
harsh
old
age
.
In
the
far
distant
time
,
when
he
had
been
amidst
the
world
of
men
,
he
had
known
how
to
utter
the
words
that
charmed
to
stillness
a
raging
multitude
.
He
had
not
altogether
lost
this
eloquence
at
such
rare
times
as
he
still
cared
to
break
his
silence
,
and
to
unfold
the
unforgotten
memories
of
a
life
long
dead
.
He
would
speak
thus
to
her
,
but
to
no
other
.
Folle‐Farine
listened
,
mute
and
breathless
,
her
eyes
uplifted
to
the
sun
,
where
it
was
sinking
westward
through
a
pomp
of
golden
and
of
purple
cloud
.
He
was
the
only
creature
who
ever
spoke
to
her
as
though
she
likewise
were
human
;
and
she
followed
his
words
with
dumb
unquestioning
faith
,
as
a
dog
its
master’s
footsteps
.
“
The
soul
!
What
is
the
soul
?
”
she
muttered
at
length
.
He
caught
in
his
hand
the
beautiful
diamond‐winged
butterfly
,
which
now
,
freed
of
the
dust
and
drinking
in
the
sunlight
,
was
poised
on
a
foxglove
in
the
hedge
growing
near
him
,
and
held
it
against
the
light
.
What
is
it
that
moves
this
creature’s
wings
,
and
glances
in
its
eyes
,
and
gives
it
delight
in
the
summer’s
warmth
,
in
the
orchid’s
honey
,
and
in
the
lime‐tree’s
leaves
?
”
“
I
do
not
know
;
but
I
know
that
I
can
kill
it
—
with
one
grind
of
my
heel
.
”
“
So
much
we
know
of
the
soul
—
no
more
.
”
She
freed
it
from
his
hand
.
“
Whoever
made
it
,
then
,
was
cruel
.
If
he
could
give
it
so
much
power
,
why
not
have
given
it
a
little
more
,
so
that
it
could
escape
you
always
?
”
“
You
ask
what
men
have
asked
ten
times
ten
thousand
years
—
since
the
world
began
—
without
an
answer
.
Because
the
law
of
all
creation
is
cruelty
,
I
suppose
;
because
the
dust
of
death
is
always
the
breath
of
life
.
The
great
man
,
dead
,
changes
to
a
million
worms
,
and
lives
again
in
the
juices
of
the
grass
above
his
grave
.
It
matters
little
.
The
worms
destroy
;
the
grasses
nourish
.
Few
great
men
do
more
than
the
first
,
or
as
much
as
the
last
.
”
“
But
get
you
homeward
,
”
he
continued
,
breaking
off
his
parable
;
“
it
is
two
hours
past
noon
,
and
if
you
be
late
on
the
way
you
pay
for
it
with
your
body
.
Begone
.
”
She
nodded
her
head
,
and
went
;
he
seldom
used
gentle
words
to
her
,
and
yet
she
knew
,
in
a
way
,
that
he
cared
for
her
;
moreover
,
she
rejoiced
in
that
bitter
,
caustic
contempt
in
which
he
,
the
oldest
man
amidst
them
,
held
all
men
.
His
words
were
the
only
thing
that
had
aroused
her
dulled
brain
to
its
natural
faculties
;
in
a
manner
,
from
him
she
had
caught
something
of
knowledge
—
something
,
too
,
of
intellect
;
he
alone
prevented
her
from
sinking
to
that
absolute
unquestioning
despair
which
surely
ends
in
idiocy
or
in
self‐murder
.
She
pursued
her
way
in
silence
across
the
fields
,
and
along
the
straight
white
road
,
and
across
a
wooden
bridge
that
spanned
the
river
,
to
her
home
.
There
was
a
gentler
lustre
in
her
eyes
and
her
mouth
had
the
faint
light
of
a
half
smile
upon
it
;
she
did
not
know
what
hope
meant
;
it
never
seemed
possible
to
her
that
her
fate
could
be
other
than
it
was
,
since
so
long
the
messengers
and
emissaries
of
her
father’s
empire
had
been
silent
and
leaden‐footed
to
her
call
.
Yet
,
in
a
manner
,
she
was
comforted
,
for
had
not
two
mouths
that
day
bidden
her
“
wait
”
?
She
entered
at
length
the
little
wood
of
Yprès
,
and
heard
that
rush
and
music
of
the
deep
mill
water
,
which
was
the
sole
thing
she
had
learned
to
love
in
all
the
place
.
Beyond
it
were
the
apple
orchards
and
fruit
gardens
which
rendered
Claudis
Flamma
back
full
recompense
for
the
toil
they
cost
him
—
recompense
so
large
,
indeed
,
that
many
disbelieved
in
that
poverty
which
he
was
wont
to
aver
weighed
so
hardly
and
so
tightly
on
him
.
Both
were
now
rich
in
all
their
mature
abundance
,
since
the
stream
which
rushed
through
them
had
saved
them
from
the
evil
effects
of
the
long
drought
so
severely
felt
in
other
districts
.
The
cherry
trees
were
scarlet
with
their
latest
fruit
;
the
great
pumpkins
glowed
amongst
their
leaves
in
tawny
orange
heaps
;
little
russet‐breasted
bullfinches
beat
their
wings
vainly
at
the
fine
network
that
enshrouded
the
paler
gold
of
the
wall
apricots
;
a
grey
cat
was
stealing
amongst
the
delicate
yellows
of
the
pear‐shaped
marrows
;
where
a
round
green
wrinkled
melon
lay
a‐ripening
in
the
sun
,
a
gorgeous
dragon‐fly
was
hovering
,
and
a
mother‐mavis
,
in
her
simple
coif
of
brown
and
white
and
grey
,
was
singing
with
all
the
gladness
of
her
sunny
summer
joys
.
Beyond
a
hedge
of
prickly
thorn
the
narrower
flower
garden
stretched
,
spanned
by
low
stone
walls
,
made
venerable
by
the
silvery
beards
of
lichens
;
and
the
whole
earth
was
full
of
colour
from
the
crimson
and
the
golden
gladioli
;
from
the
carmine‐hued
carnations
;
from
the
deep‐blue
lupins
,
and
the
Gloire
de
Dijon
roses
;
from
the
green
slender
stems
,
and
the
pure
white
cups
,
of
the
virginal
lilies
;
and
from
the
gorgeous
beetles
,
with
their
purple
tunics
and
their
shields
of
bronze
,
like
Grecian
hoplites
in
battle
array
.
While
everywhere
,
above
this
sweet
glad
garden
world
,
the
butterflies
,
purple
and
jewelled
,
the
red‐starts
in
their
ruby
coats
,
the
dainty
azure‐winged
blue‐warblers
,
the
golden‐girdled
wasp
with
his
pinions
light
as
mist
,
and
the
velvet‐coated
bee
with
his
pleasant
harvest
song
,
flew
ever
in
the
sunlight
,
murmuring
,
poising
,
praising
,
rejoicing
.
The
place
was
beautiful
in
its
own
simple
,
quiet
way
;
lying
in
a
hollow
,
where
the
river
tumbled
down
in
tow
or
three
short
breaks
and
leaps
which
broke
its
habitual
smooth
and
sluggish
form
,
and
brought
it
in
a
sheet
of
dark
water
and
with
a
million
foam‐bells
against
the
walls
of
the
mill‐house
and
under
the
ponderous
wheels
.
The
wooden
house
itself
also
was
picturesque
,
in
the
old
fashion
common
when
men
built
their
dwellings
slowly
and
for
love
;
with
all
its
countless
carvings
black
by
age
,
its
jutting
beams
shapen
into
grotesque
human
likeness
and
tragic
masks
;
its
parquetted
work
run
over
by
the
green
cups
of
stoneworks
,
and
its
high
roof
with
deep
shelving
eave
bright
with
diapered
tiles
of
blue
and
white
and
rose
,
and
alive
all
day
with
curling
swallows
,
with
pluming
pigeons
,
with
cooing
doves
.
It
was
beautiful
;
and
the
heart
of
Reine
Flamma’s
young
daughter
doubtless
would
have
clung
to
it
,
with
all
a
child’s
instinct
of
love
and
loyalty
to
its
home
,
had
it
not
been
to
her
only
a
prison‐house
wherein
three
bitter
gaolers
for
ever
ruled
her
with
a
rod
of
iron
—
bigotry
and
penury
and
cruelty
.
She
flung
herself
down
a
moment
in
the
garden
,
on
the
long
grass
under
a
mulberry
tree
,
ere
she
went
in
to
give
her
account
of
the
fruit
sold
and
the
monies
brought
by
her
.
She
had
been
on
foot
since
four
o’clock
in
the
dawn
of
that
sultry
day
;
her
only
meal
had
been
a
bowl
or
cold
milk
and
a
hunch
of
dry
bread
crushed
in
her
strong
small
teeth
.
She
always
toiled
hard
at
such
bodily
labour
as
was
set
to
her
;
to
domestic
work
,
to
the
work
of
the
distaff
and
spindle
,
of
the
stove
and
the
needle
,
they
had
never
been
able
to
break
her
;
they
had
found
that
she
would
be
beaten
black
and
blue
ere
she
would
be
bound
to
it
;
but
against
open
air
exertion
she
had
never
rebelled
,
and
she
had
in
her
all
the
strength
and
the
swiftness
of
the
nomadic
race
of
the
Liébana
,
and
had
nought
of
their
indolence
and
their
dishonesty
.
She
was
very
hungry
,
she
was
again
thirsty
;
yet
she
did
not
break
off
a
fruit
from
any
bough
about
her
;
she
did
not
steep
her
hot
lips
in
any
one
of
the
cool
juicy
apricots
which
studded
the
stones
of
the
wall
beyond
her
.
No
one
had
ever
taught
her
honesty
,
except
indeed
in
that
dim
dead
time
when
Phratos
had
closed
her
small
hands
in
his
whenever
they
had
stretched
out
to
some
forbidden
thing
,
and
had
said
,
“
Take
the
goods
the
gods
give
thee
,
but
steal
not
from
men
.
”
And
yet
honest
she
was
,
by
reason
of
the
fierce
proud
savage
independence
in
her
,
and
her
dim
memories
of
that
sole
friend
loved
and
lost
.
She
wanted
many
a
thing
,
many
a
time
;
—
nay
,
nearly
every
hour
that
she
lived
,
she
wanted
those
sheer
necessaries
which
make
life
endurable
;
but
she
had
taught
herself
to
do
without
them
rather
than
owe
them
by
prayer
or
plunder
to
that
human
race
which
she
hated
,
and
to
which
she
always
doubted
her
own
kinship
.
Buried
in
the
grass
,
she
now
abandoned
herself
to
the
bodily
delights
of
rest
,
of
shade
,
of
coolness
,
of
sweet
odours
:
the
scent
of
the
fruits
and
flowers
was
heavy
on
the
air
;
the
fall
of
the
water
made
a
familiar
tempestuous
music
on
her
ear
;
and
her
fancy
,
poetic
still
,
though
deadened
by
a
life
of
ignorance
and
toil
,
was
stirred
by
the
tender
tones
of
the
numberless
birds
that
sang
about
her
.
“
The
earth
and
the
air
are
good
,
”
she
thought
,
as
she
lay
there
watching
the
dark
leaves
sway
in
the
foam
and
the
wind
,
and
the
bright‐bosomed
birds
float
from
blossom
to
blossom
.
For
there
was
latent
in
her
,
all
untaught
,
that
old
pantheistic
instinct
of
the
divine
age
,
when
the
world
was
young
,
to
behold
a
sentient
consciousness
in
every
leaf
unfolded
to
the
light
;
to
see
a
soul
in
every
created
thing
the
day
shines
on
;
to
feel
the
presence
of
an
eternal
life
in
every
breeze
that
moves
,
in
every
grass
that
grows
;
in
every
flame
that
lifts
itself
to
heaven
;
in
every
bell
that
vibrates
on
the
air
;
in
every
moth
that
soars
to
reach
the
stars
.
Pantheism
is
the
religion
of
the
poet
;
and
nature
had
made
her
a
poet
,
though
man
as
yet
had
but
made
of
her
an
outcast
,
a
slave
,
and
a
beast
of
burden
.
“
The
earth
and
the
air
are
good
,
”
she
thought
,
watching
the
sun‐rays
pierce
the
purple
heart
of
a
passion‐flower
,
the
shadows
move
across
the
deep
brown
water
,
the
radiant
butterfly
alight
upon
a
lily
,
the
scarlet‐throated
birds
dart
in
and
out
,
through
the
yellow
feathery
blossoms
of
the
limes
.
All
birds
were
her
friends
.
Phratos
had
taught
her
in
her
infancy
many
notes
of
their
various
songs
,
and
many
ways
and
means
of
luring
them
to
come
and
rest
upon
her
shoulder
and
peck
the
berries
in
her
hands
.
She
had
lived
so
much
in
the
open
fields
and
amongst
the
woods
that
she
had
made
her
chief
companions
of
them
.
She
could
emulate
so
deftly
all
their
voices
,
from
the
call
of
the
wood
dove
to
the
chant
of
the
blackbird
,
and
from
the
trill
of
the
nightingale
to
the
twitter
of
the
titmouse
,
that
she
could
summon
them
all
to
her
at
will
,
and
have
dozens
of
them
fluttering
around
her
head
and
swaying
their
pretty
bodies
on
her
wrist
.
It
was
one
of
her
ways
that
seemed
to
the
peasantry
so
weird
and
magical
;
and
they
would
come
home
from
their
fields
on
a
spring
day‐break
and
tell
their
wives
in
horror
how
they
had
seen
the
devil’s
daughter
in
the
red
flush
of
the
sunrise
,
ankle‐deep
in
violets
,
and
covered
with
birds
from
head
to
foot
,
hearing
their
whispers
,
and
giving
them
her
messages
to
carry
in
return
.
One
meek‐eyed
woman
had
dared
once
to
say
that
St.
Francis
had
done
as
much
,
and
it
had
been
accredited
to
him
as
a
fair
action
and
virtuous
knowledge
;
but
she
was
frowned
down
and
chattered
down
by
her
louder
neighbours
,
who
told
her
that
she
might
look
for
some
sharp
judgment
of
heaven
for
daring
to
couple
together
the
blessed
name
of
the
holy
saint
and
the
accursed
name
of
this
foul
spirit
.
But
all
they
could
say
could
not
break
the
charmed
communion
between
Folle‐Farine
and
her
feathered
companions
.
She
loved
them
and
they
her
.
In
the
hard
winter
she
had
always
saved
some
of
her
scanty
meal
for
them
,
and
in
the
springtime
and
the
summer
they
always
rewarded
her
with
floods
of
songs
and
soft
caresses
from
their
nestling
wings
.
There
were
no
rare
birds
,
no
birds
of
moor
and
mountain
,
in
that
cultivated
and
populous
district
;
but
to
her
all
the
little
home‐bred
things
of
pasture
and
orchard
were
full
of
poetry
and
of
character
.
The
robins
,
with
that
pretty
air
of
boldness
with
which
they
veil
their
real
shyness
and
timidity
;
the
strong
and
saucy
sparrows
,
powerful
by
the
strength
of
all
mediocrities
and
majorities
;
all
the
dainty
families
of
finches
in
their
gay
apparellings
;
the
plain
brown
bird
that
filled
the
night
with
music
;
the
gorgeous
oriole
ruffling
in
gold
,
the
gilded
princeling
of
them
all
;
the
little
blue
warblers
,
the
violets
of
the
air
;
the
kingfishers
who
had
hovered
so
long
over
the
forget‐me‐nots
upon
the
rivers
that
they
had
caught
the
colours
of
the
flowers
on
their
wings
;
the
bright
black‐caps
green
as
the
leaves
,
with
their
yellow
waistcoats
and
velvet
hoods
,
the
innocent
freebooters
of
the
woodland
liberties
:
all
these
were
her
friends
and
lovers
,
various
as
any
human
crowds
of
court
or
city
.
She
loved
them
;
they
and
the
fourfooted
beasts
were
the
sole
things
that
did
not
flee
from
her
;
and
the
woeful
and
mad
slaughter
of
them
by
the
peasants
was
to
her
a
grief
passionate
in
its
despair
.
She
did
not
reason
on
what
she
felt
;
but
to
her
a
bird
slain
was
a
trust
betrayed
,
an
innocence
defiled
,
a
creature
of
heaven
struck
to
earth
.
Suddenly
on
the
silence
of
the
garden
there
was
a
little
shrill
sound
of
pain
;
the
birds
flew
high
in
air
,
screaming
and
startled
;
the
leaves
of
a
bough
of
ivy
shook
as
with
a
struggle
.
She
rose
and
looked
;
a
line
of
twine
was
trembling
against
the
foliage
;
in
its
noosed
end
the
throat
of
the
mavis
had
been
caught
;
it
hung
tremblingly
and
clutching
at
the
air
convulsively
with
its
little
drawn
up
feet
.
It
had
flown
into
the
trap
as
it
had
ended
its
joyous
song
and
soared
up
to
join
its
brethren
.
There
were
a
score
of
such
traps
set
in
the
miller’s
garden
.
She
unloosed
the
cord
from
about
its
tiny
neck
,
set
it
free
,
and
laid
it
down
upon
the
ivy
:
the
succour
came
too
late
;
the
little
gentle
body
was
already
without
breath
;
the
feet
had
ceased
to
beat
the
air
;
the
small
soft
head
had
drooped
feebly
on
one
side
;
the
lifeless
eyes
had
started
from
their
sockets
;
the
throat
was
without
song
for
evermore
.
“
The
earth
would
be
good
but
for
men
,
”
she
thought
,
as
she
stood
with
the
little
dead
bird
in
her
hand
.
Its
mate
,
which
was
poised
on
a
rose
bough
,
flew
straight
to
it
,
and
curled
round
and
round
about
the
small
slain
body
,
and
piteously
bewailed
its
fate
,
and
mourned
,
refusing
to
be
comforted
,
agitating
the
air
with
trembling
wings
,
and
giving
out
vain
cries
of
grief
.
Vain
;
for
the
little
joyous
life
was
gone
;
the
life
that
asked
only
of
God
and
Man
a
home
in
the
green
leaves
;
a
drop
of
dew
from
the
cup
of
a
rose
;
a
bough
to
swing
on
in
the
sunlight
;
a
summer
day
to
celebrate
in
song
.
All
the
winter
through
,
it
had
borne
cold
and
hunger
and
pain
without
lament
;
it
had
saved
the
soil
from
destroying
larvæ
,
and
purified
the
trees
from
all
foul
germs
;
it
had
built
its
little
home
unaided
,
and
had
fed
its
nestlings
without
alms
;
it
had
given
its
sweet
song
lavishly
to
the
winds
,
to
the
blossoms
,
to
the
empty
air
,
to
the
deaf
ears
of
men
;
and
now
it
lay
dead
in
its
innocence
;
trapped
and
slain
because
human
greed
begrudge
it
a
berry
worth
the
thousandth
part
of
a
copper
coin
.
Out
from
the
porch
of
the
mill‐house
Claudis
Flamma
came
,
with
a
knife
in
his
hand
and
a
basket
,
to
cut
lilies
for
one
of
the
choristers
of
the
cathedral
,
since
the
morrow
would
be
the
religious
feast
of
the
Visitation
of
Mary
.
He
saw
the
dead
thrush
in
her
hand
,
and
chuckled
to
himself
as
he
went
by
.
“
The
tenth
bird
trapped
since
sunrise
,
”
he
said
,
thinking
how
shrewd
and
how
sure
in
their
make
were
these
traps
of
twine
that
he
set
in
the
grass
and
the
leaves
.
She
said
nothing
;
but
the
darkness
of
disgust
swept
over
her
face
,
as
he
came
in
sight
in
the
distance
.
She
knelt
down
and
scraped
a
hole
in
the
earth
;
and
laid
moss
in
it
and
put
the
mavis
softly
on
its
green
and
fragrant
bier
,
and
covered
it
with
handsful
of
fallen
rose
leaves
and
with
a
spring
or
two
of
thyme
.
Around
her
head
the
widowed
thrush
flew
ceaselessly
,
uttering
sad
cries
;
—
who
now
should
wander
with
him
through
the
sunlight
?
—
who
now
should
rove
with
him
above
the
blossoming
fields
?
—
who
now
should
sit
with
him
beneath
the
boughs
hearing
the
sweet
rain
fall
between
the
leaves
?
—
who
now
should
wake
with
him
whilst
yet
the
world
was
dark
,
to
feel
the
dawn
break
,
ere
the
east
were
red
,
and
sing
a
welcome
to
the
unborn
day
?
CHAPTER
IV
.
MEANWHILE
Claudis
Flamma
cut
the
lilies
for
the
cathedral
altars
,
muttering
many
holy
prayers
as
he
gathered
the
flowers
of
Mary
.
When
the
white
lily
sheaves
had
been
borne
away
,
kept
fresh
in
wet
moss
,
by
the
young
chorister
who
had
been
sent
for
them
,
the
miller
turned
to
her
.
“
Where
is
the
money
?
”
She
,
standing
beside
the
buried
bird
,
undid
the
leathern
thong
about
her
waist
,
opened
the
pouch
,
and
counted
out
the
coins
,
one
by
one
,
on
the
flat
stone
of
a
water
tank
amongst
the
lilies
and
the
ivy
.
There
were
a
few
silver
pieces
of
slight
value
and
some
dozens
of
copper
ones
.
The
fruit
had
been
left
at
various
stalls
and
houses
in
small
portions
,
for
it
was
the
custom
to
supply
it
fresh
each
day
.
He
caught
them
up
with
avidity
,
bit
and
tested
each
,
counted
them
again
and
again
,
and
yet
again
;
after
the
third
enumeration
he
turned
sharply
on
her
.
“
There
are
two
pieces
too
little
:
what
have
you
done
with
them
?
”
“
There
are
two
sous
short
,
”
she
answered
him
curtly
.
“
Twelve
of
the
figs
for
the
tanner
Florian
were
rotten
.
”
“
Rotten
!
—
they
were
but
over
ripe
.
”
“
It
is
the
same
thing
.
”
“
You
dare
to
answer
me
?
—
animal
!
I
say
they
had
only
tasted
a
little
too
much
of
the
sun
.
It
only
made
them
the
sweeter
.
”
“
They
were
rotten
.
”
“
They
were
not
.
You
dare
to
speak
!
If
they
had
been
rotten
,
they
lay
under
the
others
;
he
could
not
have
seen
—
”
“
I
saw
.
”
“
You
saw
!
Who
are
you
?
—
a
beggar
—
a
beast
—
a
foul
offspring
of
sin
.
You
dared
to
show
them
to
him
,
I
will
warrant
?
”
“
I
showed
him
that
they
were
not
good
.
”
“
And
gave
him
back
the
two
sous
?
”
“
I
took
seven
sous
for
what
were
good
.
I
took
nothing
for
the
rotten
ones
.
”
“
Wretch
!
you
dare
to
tell
me
that
!
”
A
smile
careless
and
sarcastic
curled
her
mouth
;
her
eyes
looked
at
him
with
all
their
boldest
,
fiercest
lustre
.
“
I
never
steal
—
not
even
from
you
,
good
Flamma
.
”
“
You
have
stolen
now
!
”
he
shrieked
,
his
thin
and
feeble
voice
rising
in
fury
at
his
lost
coins
and
his
discovered
treachery
.
“
It
is
a
lie
that
the
figs
were
rotten
;
it
is
a
lie
that
you
took
but
seven
sous
.
You
stole
the
two
sous
to
buy
you
bread
and
honey
in
the
streets
,
or
to
get
a
drink
at
the
wine
shops
.
I
know
you
;
I
know
you
;
it
is
a
devil’s
device
to
please
your
gluttonous
appetite
.
The
figs
rotten
!
—
not
so
rotten
as
is
your
soul
would
they
be
though
they
were
black
as
night
and
though
they
stank
as
river
mud
!
Go
back
to
Denis
Florian
and
bring
me
the
two
sous
,
or
I
will
thrash
you
as
a
thief
.
”
She
laughed
a
hard
,
scornful
,
reckless
laughter
.
“
You
can
thrash
me
;
you
cannot
make
me
a
thief
.
”
“
You
will
not
go
back
to
Florian
?
”
“
I
will
not
ask
him
to
pay
for
what
was
bad
.
”
“
You
will
not
confess
that
you
stole
the
money
?
”
“
I
should
lie
if
I
did
.
”
“
Then
strip
.
”
She
set
her
teeth
in
silence
;
and
without
a
moment’s
hesitation
unloosened
the
woollen
sash
knotted
round
her
waist
,
and
pushed
down
the
coarse
linen
tunic
from
about
her
throat
.
The
white
folds
fell
from
off
the
perfect
curves
of
her
brown
arms
,
and
left
bare
her
shining
shoulders
,
beautiful
as
any
sculptured
Psyche’s
.
She
was
not
conscious
of
degradation
in
her
punishment
;
she
had
been
bidden
to
bow
her
head
and
endure
the
lash
from
the
earliest
years
she
could
remember
.
According
to
the
only
creed
she
knew
,
silence
and
fortitude
and
strength
were
the
greatest
of
all
virtues
.
She
stood
now
in
the
cross
lights
among
the
lilies
as
she
had
stood
when
a
little
child
,
erect
,
unquailing
,
and
ready
to
suffer
;
insensible
of
humiliation
because
unconscious
of
sin
;
and
so
tutored
by
severity
and
exposure
that
she
had
as
yet
none
of
the
shy
shame
and
the
fugitive
shrinking
of
her
sex
.
She
had
only
the
boldness
to
bear
,
the
courage
to
be
silent
,
which
she
had
had
when
she
had
stood
amongst
the
same
tall
lilies
,
in
the
same
summer
radiance
,
in
the
years
of
her
helpless
infancy
.
She
uncovered
herself
to
the
lash
as
a
brave
hound
crouches
to
it
;
not
from
inborn
cowardice
,
but
simply
from
the
habit
of
obedience
and
of
endurance
.
He
had
used
her
as
the
Greeks
the
Helots
;
he
always
beat
her
,
when
she
was
at
fault
,
to
teach
her
to
be
faultless
;
and
,
when
without
offence
,
beat
her
to
remind
her
that
she
was
the
offspring
of
humiliation
,
and
a
slave
.
He
took
,
as
he
had
taken
in
an
earlier
time
,
a
thick
rope
which
lay
coiled
upon
the
turf
ready
for
the
binding
of
some
straying
boughs
;
and
struck
her
with
it
,
slowly
.
His
arm
had
lost
somewhat
of
its
strength
,
and
his
power
was
unequal
to
his
will
.
Still
rage
for
the
loss
of
his
copper
pieces
,
and
the
sense
that
she
had
discovered
the
fraudulent
intention
of
his
small
knavery
,
lent
force
to
his
feebleness
;
as
the
scourge
whistled
through
the
air
and
descended
on
her
shoulders
it
left
bruised
,
swollen
marks
to
stamp
its
passage
,
and
curling
,
adder‐like
,
bit
and
drew
blood
.
Yet
to
the
end
she
stood
mute
and
motionless
,
as
she
had
stood
in
her
childhood
;
not
a
nerve
quivered
,
not
a
limb
flinched
:
the
colour
rushed
over
her
bent
face
and
her
bare
chest
,
but
she
never
made
a
movement
;
she
never
gave
a
sound
.
When
his
arm
dropped
from
sheer
exhaustion
,
she
still
said
not
one
word
;
she
drew
tight
once
more
the
sash
about
her
waist
,
and
fastened
afresh
the
linen
of
her
bodice
.
The
bruised
and
wounded
flesh
smarted
and
ached
and
throbbed
;
but
she
was
used
to
such
pain
,
and
bore
it
as
their
wounds
were
borne
by
the
women
of
the
Spartan
games
.
“
Your
two
sous
have
brought
you
bitterness
,
”
he
muttered
with
a
smile
.
“
You
will
scarce
find
my
fruit
rotten
again
in
haste
.
There
are
bread
and
beans
within
;
go
get
a
meal
;
I
want
the
mule
to
take
flour
to
Barbizène
.
”
She
did
not
go
within
to
eat
;
the
bruises
and
the
burning
of
her
skin
made
her
feel
sick
and
weak
.
She
went
away
and
cast
herself
at
full
length
in
the
shade
of
the
long
grasses
of
the
orchard
;
resting
her
chin
upon
her
hands
,
cooling
her
aching
breast
against
the
soft
damp
moss
;
thinking
,
thinking
,
thinking
,
of
what
she
hardly
knew
,
except
,
indeed
,
that
she
wished
that
she
were
dead
,
like
the
bird
she
had
covered
with
the
leaves
.
He
did
not
leave
her
long
to
even
so
much
peace
as
this
;
his
shrill
voice
soon
called
her
from
her
rest
;
he
bade
her
get
ready
the
mule
and
go
.
She
obeyed
.
The
animal
was
saddled
with
his
wooden
pack
;
as
many
sacks
as
he
could
carry
were
piled
upon
the
framework
;
she
put
her
hand
upon
his
bridle
,
and
set
out
to
walk
to
Barbizène
which
was
two
leagues
away
.
“
Work
is
the
only
thing
to
drive
the
devil
that
begat
her
out
of
her
,
”
muttered
the
miller
,
as
he
watched
the
old
mule
pace
down
the
narrow
,
tree‐shadowed
road
that
led
across
the
fields
:
and
he
believed
that
he
did
rightly
in
this
treatment
of
her
.
It
gratified
the
sharp
hard
cruelty
of
temper
in
him
,
indeed
,
but
he
did
not
think
that
in
such
self‐indulgence
he
ever
erred
.
He
was
a
bitter
,
cunning
,
miserly
old
man
,
whose
solitary
tenderness
of
feeling
and
honesty
of
pride
had
been
rooted
out
for
ever
when
he
had
learned
the
dishonour
of
the
woman
whom
he
had
deemed
a
saint
.
In
the
ten
years
of
time
which
had
passed
since
first
the
little
brown
large‐eyed
child
had
been
sent
to
seek
asylum
with
him
,
he
had
grown
harder
and
keener
and
more
severe
with
each
day
that
rose
.
Her
presence
was
abhorrent
to
him
,
though
he
kept
her
,
partly
from
a
savage
sense
of
duty
,
partly
from
the
persuasion
that
she
had
the
power
in
her
to
make
the
strongest
and
the
cheapest
slave
he
had
ever
owned
.
For
the
rest
,
he
sincerely
and
devoutly
believed
that
the
devil
,
in
some
witchery
of
human
guise
,
had
polluted
his
daughter’s
body
and
soul
,
and
that
it
was
by
the
foul
fiend
and
by
no
earthly
lover
that
she
had
conceived
and
borne
the
creature
who
now
abode
with
him
.
Perhaps
,
also
,
as
was
but
natural
,
he
sometime
felt
more
furious
against
this
offspring
of
hell
because
ever
and
again
some
gleam
of
fantastic
inborn
honour
,
some
strange
savage
instinct
of
honesty
,
would
awake
in
her
and
oppose
him
,
and
make
him
ashamed
of
those
small
and
secret
sins
of
chicanery
wherein
his
soul
delighted
,
and
for
which
he
compounded
with
his
gods
.
He
had
left
her
mind
a
blank
,
because
he
thought
the
body
laboured
hardest
when
the
brain
was
still
asleep
,
which
is
true
;
she
could
not
read
;
she
could
not
write
;
she
knew
absolutely
nothing
.
Yet
there
was
a
soul
awake
in
her
;
there
were
innumerable
thoughts
and
dreams
brooding
in
her
fathomless
eyes
;
there
was
a
desire
in
her
,
fierce
and
unslaked
,
for
some
other
life
than
this
life
of
the
packhorse
and
of
the
day
labourer
which
alone
she
knew
.
He
had
done
his
best
to
degrade
and
to
brutalise
her
,
and
in
much
he
had
succeeded
;
but
he
had
not
succeeded
wholly
.
There
was
a
liberty
in
her
that
escaped
his
thraldom
;
there
was
a
soul
in
her
that
resisted
the
deadening
influence
of
her
existence
.
She
had
none
of
the
shame
of
her
sex
;
she
had
none
of
the
timorous
instincts
of
womanhood
.
She
had
a
savage
stubborn
courage
,
and
she
was
insensible
of
the
daily
outrages
of
her
life
.
She
would
strip
bare
to
his
word
obediently
,
feeling
only
that
it
would
be
feeble
and
worthless
to
dread
the
pain
of
the
lash
.
She
would
bathe
in
the
woodland
pool
,
remembering
no
more
that
she
might
be
watched
by
human
eyes
than
does
the
young
tigress
that
has
never
beheld
the
face
of
man
.
In
all
this
she
was
brutalised
and
degraded
by
her
tyrant’s
bondage
:
in
other
things
she
was
far
higher
than
he
,
and
escaped
him
.
Stupefied
as
her
mind
might
be
by
the
exhaustion
of
severe
physical
labour
,
it
had
still
irony
and
it
had
still
imagination
;
and
under
the
hottest
heats
of
temptation
there
were
two
things
which
by
sheer
instinct
she
resisted
,
and
resisted
so
that
neither
of
them
had
ever
been
forced
on
her
—
they
were
falsehood
and
fear
.
“
It
is
the
infamous
strength
of
the
devil
!
”
said
Claudis
Flamma
,
when
he
found
that
he
could
not
force
her
to
deviate
from
the
truth
.
The
world
says
the
same
of
those
who
will
not
feed
it
with
lies
.
CHAPTER
V.
THAT
long
dry
summer
was
followed
by
an
autumn
of
drought
and
scarcity
.
The
prayers
of
the
priests
and
peoples
failed
to
bring
down
rain
.
The
wooden
Christs
gazed
all
day
long
on
parching
lands
and
panting
cattle
.
Even
the
broad
deep
rivers
shrank
and
left
their
banks
to
bake
and
stink
in
the
long
drought
.
The
orchards
sickened
for
lack
of
moisture
,
and
the
peasants
went
about
with
feverish
faces
,
ague‐stricken
limbs
,
and
trembling
hearts
.
The
corn
yielded
ill
in
the
hard
scorched
ground
,
and
when
the
winter
came
it
was
a
time
of
dire
scarcity
and
distress
.
Claudis
Flamma
and
a
few
others
like
him
alone
prospered
.
The
mill‐house
at
Yprès
served
many
purposes
.
It
was
a
granary
,
a
market
,
a
baker’s
shop
,
an
usurer’s
den
,
all
in
one
.
It
looked
a
simple
and
innocent
place
.
In
the
summer
time
it
was
peaceful
and
lovely
,
green
and
dark
and
still
,
with
the
blue
sky
above
it
,
and
the
songs
of
birds
all
around
;
with
its
old
black
timbers
,
and
its
many‐coloured
orchards
,
and
its
pretty
leafy
gardens
,
and
its
grey
walls
washed
by
the
hurrying
stream
.
But
in
the
winter
it
was
very
dreary
,
utterly
lonely
.
The
water
roared
,
and
the
leafless
trees
groaned
in
the
wind
,
and
the
great
leaden
clouds
of
rain
or
fog
enveloped
it
duskily
.
To
the
starving
,
wet
,
and
woe‐begone
peasants
who
would
go
to
it
with
aching
bones
and
aching
hearts
,
it
seemed
desolate
and
terrible
.
They
dreaded
with
a
great
dread
the
sharp
voice
of
its
master
—
the
hardest
and
the
shrewdest
and
the
closest
fisted
Norman
of
them
all
.
For
they
were
most
of
them
his
debtors
,
and
so
were
in
a
bitter
subjugation
to
him
,
and
had
to
pay
those
debts
as
best
they
might
with
their
labour
or
their
suffering
;
with
the
best
of
all
their
wool
,
or
oil
,
or
fruit
;
often
with
the
last
bit
of
silver
that
had
been
an
heirloom
for
five
centuries
,
or
with
the
last
bit
of
money
buried
away
in
an
old
pitcher
under
their
apple
tree
to
be
the
nest
egg
of
their
little
pet
daughter’s
dowry
.
And
yet
Claudis
Flamma
was
respected
among
them
;
for
he
could
outwit
them
,
and
was
believed
to
be
very
wealthy
,
and
was
a
man
who
stood
well
with
the
good
saints
and
with
holy
Church
:
—
a
wise
man
,
in
a
word
,
with
whom
these
northern
folks
had
the
kinship
of
mutual
industry
and
avarice
.
For
the
most
part
the
population
around
Yprès
was
thrifty
and
thriving
in
a
cautious
,
patient
,
certain
way
of
well‐doing
;
and
,
by
this
portion
of
it
,
the
silent
old
miser
was
much
honoured
as
man
laborious
and
penurious
,
who
chose
to
live
on
a
leek
and
a
rye
loaf
,
but
who
must
have
,
it
was
well
known
,
put
by
large
gains
in
the
thatch
of
his
roof
or
under
the
bricks
of
his
kitchen
.
By
the
smaller
section
of
it
—
poor
,
unthrifty
,
loose‐handed
fools
—
who
belied
the
province
of
their
birth
so
far
as
to
be
quick
to
spend
and
slow
to
save
,
and
who
therefore
fell
into
want
and
famine
and
had
to
borrow
of
others
their
children’s
bread
,
the
old
miller
was
hated
with
a
hate
deeper
and
stronger
because
forced
to
be
mute
,
and
to
submit
,
to
cringe
,
and
to
be
trod
upon
,
in
the
miserable
servitude
of
the
hopeless
debtor
.
In
the
hard
winter
which
followed
on
that
sickly
autumn
these
and
their
like
fell
farther
in
the
mire
of
poverty
than
ever
,
and
had
to
come
and
beg
of
Flamma
loans
of
the
commonest
necessaries
of
their
bare
living
.
They
knew
that
they
would
have
to
pay
a
hundredfold
in
horrible
extortion
when
the
spring
and
summer
should
bring
them
work
,
and
give
them
fruit
on
their
trees
and
crops
on
their
little
fields
;
but
they
could
do
no
better
.
It
had
been
for
many
years
the
custom
to
go
to
Flamma
in
such
need
;
and
being
never
quit
of
his
hold
,
his
debtors
never
could
try
for
aid
elsewhere
.
The
weather
towards
the
season
of
Noel
became
frightfully
severe
;
the
mill
stream
never
stopped
,
but
all
around
it
was
frozen
,
and
the
swamped
pastures
were
sheets
of
ice
.
The
birds
died
by
thousands
in
the
open
country
,
and
several
of
the
sheep
perished
in
snow
storms
on
the
higher
lands
.
There
was
dire
want
in
many
of
the
hovels
and
homesteads
,
and
the
bare
harvests
of
a
district
,
usually
so
opulent
in
the
riches
of
the
soil
,
brought
trouble
and
dearth
in
their
train
.
Sickness
prevailed
because
the
old
people
and
the
children
in
their
hunger
ate
berries
and
roots
unfit
for
human
food
;
the
waters
swelled
,
the
ice
melted
,
and
many
homes
were
flooded
,
and
some
even
swept
away
.
Old
Pitchou
and
Claudis
Flamma
alone
were
content
;
the
mill
wheel
never
stopped
work
,
and
famine
prices
could
be
asked
for
in
this
extremity
.
Folle‐Farine
worked
all
that
winter
,
day
after
day
,
month
after
month
,
with
scarcely
a
word
being
spoken
to
her
,
or
scarcely
an
hour
being
left
her
that
she
could
claim
as
her
own
.
She
looked
against
the
snow
as
strangely
as
a
scarlet
rose
blossoming
in
frost
there
could
have
done
;
but
the
people
that
came
to
and
fro
,
even
the
young
men
amongst
them
,
were
too
used
to
that
dark
vivid
silent
face
of
hers
,
and
those
lithe
brown
limbs
that
had
the
supple
play
and
the
golden
glow
of
the
East
in
them
,
to
notice
them
as
any
loveliness
;
and
if
they
did
note
them
on
some
rare
time
,
thought
of
them
only
as
the
marks
of
a
vagrant
and
accursed
race
.
She
was
so
unlike
to
themselves
that
the
northern
peasantry
never
dreamed
of
seeing
beauty
in
her
;
they
turned
their
heads
away
when
she
went
by
,
striding
after
her
mule
or
bearing
her
pitcher
from
the
well
with
the
free
and
vigorous
grace
of
a
mountain
or
desert‐born
creature
.
The
sheepskin
girt
about
her
loins
,
the
red
kerchief
knotted
to
her
head
,
the
loose
lithe
movements
of
her
beautiful
limbs
,
the
sullen
fire
and
fierce
dreams
in
her
musing
eyes
,
—
all
these
were
so
unlike
themselves
that
they
saw
nothing
in
them
except
what
was
awful
or
unlovely
.
Half
the
winter
went
by
without
a
kind
word
to
her
from
any
one
except
such
as
in
that
time
of
suffering
and
scarcity
Marcellin
spoke
to
her
.
So
had
every
winter
gone
since
she
had
come
there
—
a
time
so
long
ago
that
the
memory
of
Phratos
had
become
so
dim
to
her
that
she
often
doubted
if
he
also
were
not
a
mere
shadow
of
a
dream
like
all
the
rest
.
Half
the
winter
she
fared
hardly
and
ate
sparingly
,
and
did
the
work
of
the
mule
and
the
bullocks
:
indifferent
and
knowing
no
better
,
and
only
staring
at
the
stars
when
they
throbbed
in
the
black
skies
on
a
frosty
night
,
and
wondering
if
she
would
ever
go
to
them
,
or
if
they
would
ever
come
to
her
—
those
splendid
and
familiar
yet
unknown
things
that
looked
on
all
the
misery
of
the
earth
,
and
shone
on
tranquilly
and
did
not
seem
to
care
.
Time
came
close
on
to
the
new
year
,
and
the
distress
and
the
cold
were
together
at
their
height
.
The
weather
was
terrible
;
and
the
poor
suffered
immeasurably
.
A
score
of
times
a‐day
she
heard
them
ask
bread
at
the
mill
,
and
a
score
of
time
saw
them
given
a
stone
;
she
saw
them
come
in
the
raw
fog
,
pinched
and
shivering
,
and
sick
with
ague
,
and
she
saw
her
grandsire
deny
them
with
a
grating
sarcasm
or
two
,
or
take
from
them
fifty
times
its
value
for
some
niggard
grant
of
food
.
“
Why
should
I
think
of
it
,
why
should
I
care
?
”
she
said
to
herself
;
and
yet
she
did
both
,
and
could
not
help
it
.
There
was
among
the
sufferers
one
old
and
poor
,
who
lived
not
far
from
the
mill
,
by
name
Manon
Dax
.
She
was
a
little
old
hardy
brown
woman
,
shrivelled
and
bent
,
yet
strong
,
with
bright
eyes
like
a
robin’s
,
and
a
tough
frame
,
eighty
years
old
.
She
had
been
southern
born
,
and
the
wife
of
a
stone
cutter
;
he
had
been
dead
fifty
years
,
and
she
had
seen
all
her
sons
and
daughters
and
their
offspring
die
too
;
and
had
now
,
left
on
her
hand
to
rear
,
four
young
great‐grandchildren
,
almost
infants
,
who
were
always
crying
to
her
for
food
as
new‐born
birds
cry
in
their
nests
.
She
washed
a
little
,
when
she
could
get
any
linen
to
wash
,
and
she
span
,
and
she
picked
up
the
acorns
and
the
nuts
,
and
she
tilled
a
small
plot
of
ground
that
belonged
to
her
hut
,
and
she
grew
cabbages
and
potatoes
and
herbs
on
it
,
and
so
kept
a
roof
over
her
head
,
and
fed
her
four
nestlings
,
and
trotted
to
and
fro
in
her
wooden
shoes
all
day
long
,
and
worked
in
hail
and
rain
,
in
drought
and
tempest
,
and
never
complained
,
but
said
that
God
was
good
to
her
.
She
was
anxious
about
the
children
,
knowing
she
could
not
live
long
—
that
was
all
.
But
then
she
felt
sure
that
the
Mother
of
God
would
take
care
of
them
,
and
so
was
cheerful
;
and
did
what
the
day
brought
her
to
do
,
and
was
content
.
Now
on
Manon
Dax
,
as
on
thousands
of
others
,
the
unusual
severity
of
the
winter
fell
like
a
knife
.
She
was
only
one
amongst
thousands
.
Nobody
noticed
her
;
still
it
was
hard
.
All
the
springs
near
her
dwelling
were
frozen
for
many
weeks
;
there
was
no
well
nearer
than
half
a
league
;
and
half
a
league
out
and
half
a
league
back
every
other
day
over
ground
sharp
and
slippery
with
ice
,
with
two
heavy
pails
to
carry
,
is
not
a
little
when
one
is
over
eighty
,
and
has
only
a
wisp
of
woollen
serge
between
the
wind
and
one’s
withered
limbs
.
The
acorns
and
horse‐chestnuts
had
all
been
disputed
with
her
fiercely
by
boys
rough
and
swift
,
who
foresaw
a
time
coming
in
which
their
pigs
would
be
ill‐fed
.
The
roots
in
her
little
garden
plot
were
all
black
and
killed
by
the
cold
.
The
nettles
had
been
all
gathered
and
stewed
and
eaten
.
The
snow
drove
in
through
a
big
hole
in
her
roof
.
The
woods
were
ransacked
for
every
bramble
and
broken
bough
by
reivers
younger
and
more
agile
than
herself
;
she
had
nothing
to
eat
,
nothing
to
burn
.
The
children
lay
in
their
little
beds
of
hay
and
cried
all
day
long
for
food
,
and
she
had
none
to
give
them
.
“
If
it
were
only
myself
!
”
she
thought
,
stopping
her
ears
not
to
hear
them
;
if
it
had
been
only
herself
it
would
have
been
so
easy
to
creep
away
into
the
corner
among
the
dry
grass
,
and
to
lie
still
till
the
cold
froze
the
pains
of
hunger
and
made
them
quiet
;
and
to
feel
numb
and
tired
,
and
yet
glad
that
it
was
all
over
,
and
to
murmur
that
God
was
good
,
and
so
to
let
death
come
—
content
.
But
it
was
not
only
herself
.
The
poor
are
seldom
so
fortunate
—
they
themselves
would
say
so
unhappy
—
as
to
be
alone
in
their
homes
.
There
were
the
four
small
lives
left
to
her
by
the
poor
dead
foolish
things
she
had
loved
,
—
small
lives
that
had
been
rosy
even
on
so
much
hunger
,
and
blithe
even
amidst
so
much
cold
;
that
had
been
mirthful
even
at
the
flooding
of
the
snowdrift
,
and
happy
even
over
a
meal
of
mouldy
crusts
,
or
of
hips
and
haws
from
the
hedges
.
Had
been
—
until
now
,
when
even
so
much
as
this
could
not
be
got
,
and
when
their
beds
of
hay
were
soaked
through
with
snow‐water
;
now
—
when
they
were
quite
silent
,
except
when
they
sobbed
out
a
cry
for
bread
.
“
I
am
eighty‐two
years
old
,
and
I
have
never
since
I
was
born
asked
man
or
woman
for
help
,
or
owed
man
or
woman
a
copper
coin
,
”
she
thought
,
sitting
by
her
black
hearth
,
across
which
the
howling
wind
drove
,
and
stopping
her
ears
to
shut
out
the
children’s
cries
.
She
had
often
known
severe
winters
,
scanty
food
,
bitter
living
,
—
she
had
scores
of
times
in
her
long
years
been
as
famished
as
this
,
and
as
cold
,
and
her
house
had
been
as
desolate
.
Yet
she
had
borne
it
all
and
never
asked
for
an
alms
,
being
strong
and
ignorant
,
and
being
also
in
fear
of
the
world
,
and
holding
a
debt
a
great
shame
.
But
now
she
knew
that
she
must
do
it
,
or
let
those
children
perish
;
being
herself
old
and
past
work
,
and
having
seen
all
her
sons
die
out
in
their
strength
before
her
.
The
struggle
was
long
and
hard
with
her
.
She
would
have
to
die
soon
,
she
knew
,
and
she
had
striven
all
her
lifetime
so
to
live
that
she
might
die
saying
,
“
I
have
asked
nothing
of
any
man
.
”
This
perhaps
,
she
thought
sadly
,
had
been
only
a
pride
after
all
;
