thatinstinct
born
of
habit
which
takes
the
ox
or
the
ass
back
undriven
through
the
old
accustomed
ways
to
stand
beside
their
ploughshare
or
their
harness
faithful
and
unbidden
.
Where
the
stream
ran
by
the
old
mill‐steps
the
river
reeds
were
blowing
in
the
wind
,
with
sun‐rays
playing
in
their
midst
,
and
the
silver
wings
of
the
swallows
brushing
them
with
a
swift
caress
.
“
I
thought
to
be
the
reed
chosen
by
the
gods
!
”
she
said
bitterly
in
her
heart
,
“
but
am
I
not
worthy
—
even
to
die
.
”
For
she
would
have
asked
of
fate
no
nobler
thing
than
this
—
to
be
cut
down
as
the
reed
by
the
reaper
,
if
so
be
that
through
her
the
world
might
be
brought
to
hearken
to
the
music
of
the
lips
that
she
loved
.
She
drew
her
aching
weary
limbs
feebly
through
the
leafy
ways
of
the
old
mill‐garden
.
The
first
leaves
of
autumn
fluttered
down
upon
her
head
;
the
last
scarlet
of
the
roses
flashed
in
her
path
as
she
went
;
the
winelike
odours
of
the
fruits
were
all
about
her
on
the
air
.
It
was
then
fully
day
.
The
sun
was
up
;
the
bells
rang
the
sixth
hour
far
away
from
the
high
towers
and
spires
of
the
town
.
At
the
mill‐house
,
and
in
the
mill‐yard
,
where
usually
everyone
had
arisen
and
were
hard
at
labour
whist
the
dawn
was
dark
,
everything
was
still
.
There
was
no
sign
of
work
.
The
light
blazed
on
the
panes
of
the
casements
under
the
eaves
,
but
its
summons
failed
to
arouse
the
sleepers
under
the
roof
.
The
bees
hummed
around
their
houses
of
straw
;
the
pigeons
flew
to
and
fro
between
the
timbers
of
the
walls
and
the
boughs
of
the
fruit
trees
.
The
mule
leaned
his
head
over
the
bar
of
the
gate
,
and
watched
with
wistful
eyes
.
The
cow
in
her
shed
lowed
,
impatient
for
some
human
hands
to
unbar
her
door
,
and
lead
her
forth
to
her
green
clovered
pasture
.
A
dumb
boy
,
who
aided
in
the
working
of
the
mill
,
sat
astride
of
a
log
of
timber
,
kicking
his
feet
amongst
the
long
grasses
,
and
blowing
thistles
down
above
his
head
upon
the
breeze
.
The
silence
and
the
inactivity
startled
her
into
a
sense
of
them
,
as
no
noise
or
movement
,
curses
of
blows
,
could
have
done
.
She
looked
around
stupidly
;
the
window‐shutters
of
the
house‐windows
were
closed
,
as
though
it
were
still
night
.
She
signed
rapidly
to
the
boy
.
“
What
has
happened
?
Why
is
the
mill
not
at
work
thus
late
?
”
The
lad
left
off
blowing
the
thistle
feathers
on
the
wind
,
and
grinned
,
and
answered
on
his
hands
:
“
Flamma
is
almost
dead
,
they
say
.
”
And
he
grinned
again
,
and
laughed
,
as
far
as
his
uncouth
and
guttural
noises
could
be
said
to
approach
the
triumph
and
the
jubilance
of
laughter
.
She
stared
at
him
blankly
for
awhile
,
bewildered
and
shaken
from
the
stupor
of
her
own
misery
.
She
had
never
thought
of
death
and
her
tyrant
in
unison
.
He
had
seemed
a
man
formed
to
live
on
and
on
and
on
unchanging
for
generations
;
he
was
so
hard
,
so
unyielding
,
so
hale
,
so
silent
,
so
callous
to
all
pain
;
it
had
ever
seemed
to
her
—
and
to
the
country
round
,
—
that
death
itself
would
never
venture
to
come
to
wrestle
with
him
.
She
stood
amongst
the
red
and
the
purple
and
the
russet
gold
of
the
latest
summer
flowers
in
the
mill‐garden
,
where
he
had
scourged
her
as
a
little
child
for
daring
to
pause
and
cool
her
burning
face
in
the
sweetness
of
the
white
lilies
.
Could
that
ruthless
arm
be
unnerved
even
by
age
or
death
—
it
seemed
to
her
quite
impossible
.
All
was
quite
still
.
Nothing
stirred
,
except
the
silvery
gnats
of
the
morning
,
and
the
bees
,
and
the
birds
in
the
leaves
.
There
seemed
a
strange
silence
everywhere
,
and
the
great
wheels
stood
still
in
the
mill‐water
;
never
within
the
memory
of
any
in
that
countryside
had
those
wheels
failed
to
turn
at
sunrise
,
unless
locked
by
a
winter‐frost
.
She
hastened
her
steps
,
and
went
within
.
The
clock
ticked
,
the
lean
cat
mewed
;
other
sound
there
was
none
.
She
left
her
wooden
shoes
at
the
bottom
step
,
and
stole
up
the
steep
stairs
.
The
woman
Pitchou
peered
with
a
scared
face
out
from
her
master’s
chamber
.
“
Where
hast
been
all
night
?
”
she
whispered
in
her
grating
voice
;
“
thy
grandsire
lies
a‐dying
.
”
“
Dying
?
”
“
Aye
,
”
muttered
the
old
peasant
.
“
He
had
a
stroke
yester’‐night
,
as
he
came
from
the
corn
fair
.
They
brought
him
home
in
the
cart
.
He
is
as
good
as
dead
.
You
are
glad
.
”
“
Hush
!
”
muttered
the
girl
fiercely
;
and
she
dropt
down
on
the
topmost
step
,
and
rested
her
head
on
her
hands
.
She
had
nothing
to
grieve
for
;
and
yet
there
was
that
in
the
coarse
congratulations
which
jarred
on
her
and
hurt
her
.
She
thought
on
Manon
Dax
dead
in
the
snow
;
she
thought
of
the
song‐birds
dead
in
the
traps
;
she
thought
of
the
poor
coming
—
coming
—
coming
—
through
so
many
winters
to
beg
bread
,
and
going
away
with
empty
hands
and
burdened
hearts
,
cursing
God
.
Was
this
death‐bed
all
their
vengeance
?
It
was
poor
justice
,
and
came
late
.
Old
Pitchou
stood
and
looked
at
her
.
“
Will
he
leave
her
the
gold
or
no
?
”
she
questioned
in
herself
;
musing
whether
or
no
it
were
better
to
be
civil
to
the
one
who
might
inherit
all
his
wealth
,
or
might
be
cast
adrift
upon
the
world
—
who
could
say
which
?
After
awhile
Folle‐Farine
rose
silently
and
brushed
her
aside
,
and
went
into
the
room
.
It
was
a
poor
chamber
;
with
a
bed
of
straw
and
a
rough
bench
or
two
,
and
a
wooden
cross
with
a
picture
of
the
Ascension
hung
above
it
.
The
square
window
was
open
,
a
knot
of
golden
pear
leaves
nodded
to
and
fro
;
a
linnet
sang
.
On
the
bed
Claudis
Flamma
lay
;
dead
already
,
except
for
the
twitching
of
his
mouth
,
and
the
restless
wanderings
of
his
eyes
.
Yet
not
so
lost
to
life
but
that
he
knew
her
at
a
glance
;
and
,
as
she
entered
,
glared
upon
her
,
and
clenched
his
numbed
hands
upon
the
straw
,
and
with
a
horrible
effort
in
his
almost
lifeless
limbs
,
raised
the
right
arm
,
that
alone
had
any
strength
or
warmth
left
in
it
,
and
pointed
at
her
with
a
shriek
:
“
She
was
a
saint
—
a
saint
:
God
took
her
.
So
I
said
:
—
and
was
proud
.
While
all
the
while
man
begot
on
her
that
!
”
Then
with
a
ghastly
rattle
in
his
throat
,
he
quivered
,
and
lay
paralysed
again
;
only
the
eyes
were
alive
,
and
were
still
speaking
—
awfully
.
Folle‐Farine
went
up
to
his
bed
,
and
stood
beside
it
,
looking
down
on
him
.
“
You
mean
—
my
mother
?
”
It
was
the
first
time
that
she
had
ever
said
the
word
.
Her
voice
lingered
on
the
word
,
as
though
loth
to
leave
its
unfamiliar
sweetness
.
He
lay
and
looked
at
her
,
motionless
,
impatient
,
lifeless
;
save
only
for
the
bleak
and
bloodshot
stare
of
the
stony
eyes
.
She
thought
that
he
had
heard
;
but
he
made
no
sign
in
answer
.
She
sank
down
on
her
knees
beside
his
bed
,
and
put
her
lips
close
to
him
.
“
Try
and
speak
to
me
of
my
mother
—
once
—
once
,
”
she
murmured
,
with
a
pathetic
longing
in
her
voice
.
A
shudder
shook
his
frozen
limbs
.
He
made
no
answer
,
he
only
glared
on
her
with
a
terrible
stare
that
might
be
horror
,
repentance
,
grief
,
memory
,
fear
—
she
could
not
tell
.
Old
Pitchou
stretched
her
head
from
the
corner
,
as
a
hooded
snake
from
its
hole
.
“
Ask
where
the
money
is
hid
,
”
she
hissed
in
a
shrill
whisper
.
“
Ask
—
ask
—
while
he
can
yet
understand
.
”
He
understood
,
for
a
smile
grim
and
horrible
disturbed
his
tight
lips
a
moment
.
Folle‐Farine
did
not
hear
.
“
Tell
me
of
my
mother
;
—
tell
me
,
tell
me
,
”
she
muttered
.
Since
a
human
love
had
been
born
in
her
heart
,
she
had
thought
often
of
that
mother
whose
eyes
had
never
looked
on
her
,
and
whose
arms
had
never
held
her
.
His
face
changed
,
but
he
did
not
speak
;
he
gasped
for
breath
,
and
lay
silent
;
his
eyes
troubled
and
confused
;
it
might
be
that
in
that
moment
remorse
was
with
him
,
and
there
arose
the
vain
regrets
of
cruel
years
.
It
might
be
that
dying
thus
,
he
knew
that
from
his
hearth
,
as
from
hell
,
mother
and
child
had
both
been
driven
whilst
his
lips
had
talked
of
God
.
A
little
bell
rang
softly
in
the
orchard
below
the
casement
;
the
clear
voice
of
a
young
boy
singing
a
canticle
crossed
the
voice
of
the
linnet
;
there
was
a
gleam
of
silver
in
the
sun
.
The
Church
bore
its
Host
to
the
dying
man
.
They
turned
her
from
the
chamber
.
The
eyes
of
one
unsanctified
might
not
gaze
upon
the
mysteries
of
the
blest
.
She
went
out
without
resistance
;
she
was
oppressed
and
stupefied
;
she
went
to
the
stairs
,
and
there
sat
down
again
,
resting
her
forehead
on
her
hands
.
The
door
of
the
chamber
was
a
little
open
,
and
she
could
hear
the
murmurs
of
the
priest’s
words
,
and
smell
the
odours
of
the
sacred
chrism
.
A
great
bitterness
came
on
her
mouth
.
“
One
crust
in
love
—
to
the
poor
—
in
the
deadly
winters
,
had
been
better
worth
than
all
this
oil
and
prayer
,
”
she
thought
.
And
she
could
see
nothing
but
the
old
famished
face
of
Manon
Dax
in
the
snow
and
the
moonlight
,
as
the
old
woman
had
muttered
,
“
God
is
good
.
”
The
offices
of
the
Church
ceased
;
there
reigned
an
intense
stillness
;
a
stillness
as
of
cold
.
Suddenly
the
voice
of
Claudis
Flamma
rang
out
loud
and
shrill
.
“
I
loved
her
!
Oh
Heaven
!
Thou
knowest
!
”
She
rose
and
looked
through
the
space
of
the
open
door
into
the
death‐chamber
.
He
had
sprung
half
erect
,
and
with
his
arms
outstretched
,
gazed
at
the
gladness
and
the
brightness
of
the
day
.
In
his
eyes
there
was
a
mortal
agony
,
a
passion
of
reproach
.
With
one
last
supreme
effort
,
he
raised
the
crucifix
which
the
priests
had
laid
upon
his
bare
anointed
breast
,
and
held
it
aloft
,
and
shook
it
,
and
spat
on
it
,
and
cast
it
forth
from
him
broken
on
the
ground
.
Even
Thou
art
a
lie
!
”
he
cried
—
it
was
the
cry
of
the
soul
leaving
the
body
,
—
with
the
next
moment
he
fell
back
—
dead
.
In
that
one
cry
his
heat
had
spoken
;
the
cold
,
hard
heart
that
yet
had
shut
one
great
love
and
one
great
faith
in
it
,
and
losing
these
,
had
withered
and
shown
no
wound
.
For
what
agony
had
been
like
unto
his
?
Since
who
could
render
him
back
on
earth
,
or
in
the
grave
,
that
pure
white
soul
he
had
believed
in
?
Yea
—
who
?
Not
man
;
not
even
God
.
Therefore
,
had
he
suffered
without
hope
.
She
went
away
from
the
house
and
down
the
stairs
,
and
out
into
the
ruddy
noon
.
She
took
her
way
by
instinct
to
the
orchard
,
and
there
sat
down
upon
a
moss‐grown
stone
within
the
shadow
of
the
leaves
.
All
sense
was
deadened
in
her
under
a
deep
unutterable
pity
.
From
where
she
sat
she
could
see
the
lattice
window
,
and
the
gabled
end
of
the
chamber
,
where
the
linnet
sang
,
and
the
yellow
fruit
of
the
pear‐tree
swung
.
All
about
was
the
drowsy
hot
weather
of
the
fruit
harvest
;
the
murmur
of
bees
;
the
sweep
of
the
boughs
in
the
water
.
Never
,
in
all
the
years
that
they
had
dwelt
together
beneath
one
roof
,
had
any
good
word
or
fair
glance
been
given
her
;
he
had
nourished
her
on
bitterness
,
and
for
his
wage
paid
her
a
curse
.
Yet
her
heart
was
sore
for
him
;
and
judged
him
without
hatred
.
All
things
seemed
clear
to
her
,
now
that
a
human
love
had
reached
her
;
and
this
man
also
,
having
loved
greatly
and
been
betrayed
,
became
sanctified
in
her
sight
.
She
forgot
his
brutality
,
his
avarice
,
his
hatred
;
she
remembered
only
that
he
had
loved
,
and
I
his
love
been
fooled
,
and
so
had
lost
his
faith
in
God
and
man
,
and
had
thus
staggered
wretchedly
down
the
darkness
of
his
life
,
hating
himself
and
every
other
,
and
hurting
every
other
human
thing
that
touched
him
,
and
crying
ever
in
his
blindness
,
“
O
Lord
,
I
believe
,
help
thou
mine
unbelief
!
”
And
now
he
was
dead
.
What
did
it
matter
?
Whether
any
soul
of
his
lived
again
,
or
whether
body
and
mind
both
died
for
ever
,
what
would
it
benefit
all
those
whom
he
had
slain
?
—
the
little
fair
birds
,
poisoned
in
their
song
;
the
little
sickly
children
,
starved
in
the
long
winters
;
the
miserable
women
,
hunted
to
their
grave
for
some
small
debt
of
fuel
or
bread
;
the
wretched
poor
,
mocked
in
their
famine
by
his
greed
and
gain
?
It
had
been
woe
for
him
that
his
love
had
wronged
him
,
and
turned
the
hard
excellence
of
his
life
to
stone
:
but
none
the
less
had
it
been
woe
to
them
to
fall
and
perish
,
because
his
hand
would
never
spare
,
his
heart
would
never
soften
.
Her
heart
was
sick
with
the
cold
,
bitter
,
and
inexorable
law
,
which
had
let
this
man
drag
out
his
seventy
years
,
cursing
and
being
cursed
;
and
lose
all
things
for
a
dream
of
God
;
and
then
at
the
last
,
upon
his
death‐bed
,
know
the
dream
likewise
to
be
false
.
“
It
is
so
cruel
!
It
is
so
cruel
!
”
she
muttered
,
where
she
sat
with
dry
eyes
in
the
shade
of
the
leaves
,
looking
at
that
window
where
death
was
.
And
she
had
reason
.
For
there
is
nothing
so
cruel
in
life
as
a
Faith
;
—
the
Faith
,
whatever
its
name
may
be
,
that
draws
a
man
on
all
his
years
through
on
one
narrow
path
,
by
one
tremulous
light
,
and
then
at
the
last
,
with
a
laugh
—
drowns
him
.
CHAPTER
V.
THE
summer
day
went
by
.
No
one
sought
her
.
She
did
not
leave
the
precincts
of
the
still
mill‐gardens
;
a
sort
of
secresy
and
stillness
seemed
to
bind
her
footsteps
there
,
and
she
dreaded
to
venture
forth
,
lest
she
should
meet
the
eyes
of
Arslàn
.
The
notary
had
put
seals
upon
all
the
cupboards
and
desks
.
Two
hired
watchers
sat
in
the
little
darkened
room
above
.
Some
tapers
burned
beside
his
bed
.
The
great
clock
ticked
heavily
.
All
the
house
was
closed
.
Without
burned
the
great
roses
of
the
late
summer
,
and
the
scorch
of
a
cloudless
sun
.
The
wheels
of
the
mill
stood
still
.
People
came
and
went
;
many
women
amongst
them
.
The
death
of
the
miller
of
Yprès
was
a
shock
to
all
his
countryside
.
There
was
scarce
a
face
that
did
not
lighten
,
as
the
peasants
going
to
their
labour
,
met
one
another
in
the
mellow
fields
,
and
called
across
,
“
Hast
heard
?
Flamma
is
dead
—
at
last
.
”
No
woman
came
across
the
meadows
with
a
little
candle
,
and
kneeled
down
by
his
body
,
and
wept
and
blessed
the
stiff
and
withered
hands
for
the
good
that
they
had
wrought
,
and
for
the
gifts
that
they
had
given
.
The
hot
day‐hours
stole
slowly
by
;
all
was
noiseless
there
where
she
sat
,
lost
in
the
stupefied
pain
of
her
thoughts
,
:
in
the
deep
shadow
of
the
leaves
,
where
the
first
breath
of
the
Autumn
had
gilded
them
and
varied
them
,
here
and
there
,
with
streaks
of
red
.
No
one
saw
her
;
no
one
remembered
her
,
no
one
came
to
her
.
She
was
left
in
peace
,
such
peace
as
is
the
lot
of
those
for
whose
sigh
no
human
ear
is
open
,
for
whose
need
no
human
hand
is
stretched
.
Once
indeed
,
at
noonday
,
the
old
serving‐woman
sought
her
,
and
forced
on
her
some
simple
meal
of
crusts
and
eggs
.
“
For
who
can
tell
?
”
the
shrewd
old
Norman
crone
thought
to
herself
,
“
who
can
tell
?
She
may
get
all
the
treasure
:
who
knows
?
And
if
so
,
it
will
be
best
to
have
been
a
little
good
to
her
this
day
,
and
to
seem
as
if
one
had
forgiven
about
the
chain
of
coins
.
”
For
Pitchou
,
like
the
world
at
large
,
would
pardon
offences
,
if
for
pardon
she
saw
a
sure
profit
in
gold
.
“
Whom
will
he
have
left
all
the
wealth
to
,
think
you
,
”
the
old
peasant
muttered
,
with
a
cunning
glitter
in
her
sunken
eyes
,
standing
by
her
at
noon
,
in
the
solitude
,
where
the
orchards
touched
the
mill‐stream
.
“
The
wealth
,
whose
wealth
?
”
Folle‐Farine
echoed
the
word
stupidly
.
She
had
had
no
thought
of
the
hoarded
savings
of
that
long
life
of
theft
and
of
oppression
.
She
had
had
no
remembrance
of
any
possible
inheritance
which
might
accrue
to
her
by
this
sudden
death
.
She
had
been
too
long
his
goaded
and
galled
slave
to
be
able
to
imagine
herself
his
heir
.
“
Aye
,
his
wealth
,
”
answered
the
woman
,
standing
against
the
water
with
her
wooden
shoes
deep
in
dock‐leaves
and
grass
,
gazing
,
with
a
curious
eager
grasping
greed
in
her
eyes
,
at
the
creature
whom
she
always
done
her
best
to
thwart
,
to
hurt
,
to
starve
,
and
to
slander
.
“
Aye
,
his
wealth
.
You
,
who
look
so
sharp
after
your
bits
of
heathen
coins
,
cannot
for
sure
pretend
to
forget
the
value
he
must
have
laid
by
,
living
as
he
lived
all
the
days
from
his
youth
upward
.
There
must
be
a
rare
mass
of
gold
hid
away
somewhere
or
another
—
the
notary
knows
,
I
suppose
—
it
is
all
in
the
place
,
that
I
am
sure
.
He
was
too
wise
ever
to
trust
money
far
from
home
;
he
knew
well
it
was
a
gad‐about
,
that
once
you
part
with
never
comes
back
to
you
.
It
must
be
all
in
the
secret
places
;
in
the
thatch
,
under
the
hearthstone
,
in
the
rafters
,
under
the
bricks
.
And
,
maybe
,
there
will
be
quite
a
fortune
.
He
made
so
much
,
and
he
lived
so
near
.
Where
think
you
it
will
go
?
”
A
faint
bitter
smile
flickered
a
moment
over
Folle‐Farine’s
mouth
.
“
It
should
go
to
the
poor
.
It
belongs
to
them
.
It
was
all
coined
out
of
their
hearts
and
their
bodies
.
”
“
They
you
have
no
hope
for
yourself
:
—
you
?
”
“
I
?
”
She
muttered
the
word
dreamily
;
and
raised
her
aching
eyelids
,
and
stared
in
stupefaction
at
the
old
,
haggard
,
dark
,
ravenous
face
of
Pitchou
.
“
Pshaw
!
You
cannot
cheat
me
that
way
,
”
said
the
woman
,
moving
away
through
the
orchard‐branches
,
muttering
to
herself
.
“
As
if
a
thing
of
hell
like
you
ever
served
like
a
slave
all
these
years
,
on
any
other
hope
,
than
the
hope
of
the
gold
!
Well
,
—
as
for
me
,
I
never
pretend
to
lie
in
that
fashion
.
If
it
had
not
been
for
the
hope
of
a
share
in
the
gold
,
I
would
never
have
eaten
for
seventeen
years
the
old
wretch’s
mouldy
crusts
and
lentil‐washings
.
”
She
hobbled
,
grumbling
on
her
way
back
to
the
house
,
through
the
russet
shadows
and
the
glowing
gold
of
the
orchards
.
Folle‐Farine
sat
by
the
water
,
musing
on
the
future
which
had
opened
to
her
with
the
woman’s
words
of
greed
.
Before
another
day
had
sped
,
it
was
possible
,
—
so
even
said
one
who
hated
her
,
and
begrudged
her
every
bit
and
drop
that
she
had
taken
at
the
miser’s
board
—
possible
that
she
would
enter
into
the
heritage
of
all
that
this
long
life
spent
in
rapacious
greed
and
gain
,
had
gathered
together
.
One
night
earlier
,
paradise
itself
would
have
seemed
to
open
before
her
with
such
a
hope
;
for
she
would
have
hastened
to
the
feet
of
Arslàn
,
and
there
poured
all
treasure
that
chance
might
have
given
her
,
and
would
have
cried
out
of
the
fulness
of
her
heart
,
“
Take
,
enjoy
,
be
free
do
as
you
will
.
So
that
you
make
the
world
of
men
own
your
greatness
,
I
will
live
as
a
beggar
all
the
years
of
my
life
,
and
think
myself
richer
than
kings
!
”
But
now
,
what
use
would
it
be
,
though
she
were
called
to
an
empire
?
She
would
not
dare
to
say
to
him
,
as
a
day
earlier
she
would
have
said
with
her
first
breath
,
“
All
that
is
mine
,
is
thine
.
”
She
would
not
even
dare
to
give
him
all
and
creep
away
unseen
,
unthanked
,
unhonoured
into
obscurity
and
oblivion
,
for
had
he
not
said
,
“
You
have
no
right
to
burden
me
with
debt
.
”
Yet
as
she
sat
there
lonely
amongst
the
grasses
,
with
the
great
mill‐wheels
at
rest
in
the
water
and
the
swallows
skimming
the
surface
,
that
was
freed
from
the
churn
and
the
foam
of
the
wheels
as
though
the
day
of
Flamma’s
death
had
been
a
saint’s
day
,
the
fancy
which
had
been
set
so
suddenly
before
her
,
dazzled
her
,
and
her
aching
brain
and
her
sick
despair
,
could
not
choose
but
play
with
it
despite
themselves
.
If
the
fortune
of
Flamma
came
to
her
,
it
might
be
pos‐
sible
,
she
thought
,
to
spend
it
so
as
to
release
him
from
his
bondage
,
without
knowledge
of
his
own
;
so
to
fashion
with
it
a
golden
temple
and
a
golden
throne
for
the
works
of
his
hand
,
that
the
world
,
which
as
they
all
said
worshipped
gold
,
should
be
forced
to
gaze
in
homage
on
the
creations
of
his
mind
and
hand
.
And
yet
he
had
said
greater
shame
there
could
come
to
no
man
,
than
to
rise
by
the
aid
of
a
woman
.
The
apple
of
life
,
however
sweet
and
fair
in
its
colour
and
savour
,
would
be
as
poison
in
his
mouth
if
her
hand
held
it
.
That
she
knew
,
and
in
the
humility
of
her
great
and
reverent
love
,
she
submitted
without
question
to
its
cruelty
.
At
night
,
she
went
within
to
break
her
fast
,
and
try
to
rest
a
little
.
The
old
peasant
woman
served
her
silently
,
and
for
the
first
time
willingly
.
“
Who
can
say
?
”
the
Norman
thought
to
herself
,
“
Who
can
say
?
She
may
yet
get
it
all
,
who
knows
?
”
At
night
as
she
slept
,
Pitchou
peered
at
her
,
shading
the
light
from
her
eyes
.
“
If
only
I
could
know
who
gets
the
gold
?
”
she
muttered
.
Her
sole
thought
was
the
money
;
the
money
that
the
notary
held
under
his
lock
and
seal
.
She
wished
now
that
she
had
dealt
better
with
the
girl
sometimes
;
it
would
have
been
safer
,
and
it
could
have
done
no
harm
.
With
earliest
dawn
Folle‐Farine
fled
again
to
the
refuge
of
the
wood
.
She
shunned
,
with
the
terror
of
a
hunted
doe
,
the
sight
of
people
coming
and
going
,
the
priests
and
the
gossips
,
the
sights
and
the
sounds
,
and
none
sought
her
.
All
the
day
through
she
wandered
in
the
cool
dewy
orchard
ways
.
Beyond
the
walls
of
the
foilage
,
she
saw
the
shrouded
window
,
the
flash
of
the
crucifix
,
the
throngs
of
the
mourners
,
the
glisten
of
the
white
robes
.
She
heard
the
deep
sonorous
swelling
of
the
chants
;
she
saw
the
little
precession
come
out
from
the
doorway
and
cross
the
old
wooden
bridge
,
and
go
slowly
through
the
sunlight
of
the
meadows
.
Many
of
the
people
followed
,
singing
,
and
bearing
tapers
;
for
he
who
was
dead
had
stood
well
with
the
Church
,
and
from
such
there
still
issues
for
the
living
a
fair
savour
.
No
one
came
to
her
.
What
had
they
to
do
with
her
?
a
creature
unbaptised
,
and
an
outcast
?
She
watched
the
little
line
fade
away
,
over
the
green
and
golden
glory
of
the
fields
.
She
did
not
think
of
herself
—
since
Arslàn
had
looked
at
her
,
in
his
merciless
scorn
,
she
had
had
neither
past
nor
future
.
It
did
not
even
occur
to
her
,
that
her
home
would
be
in
this
place
no
longer
;
it
was
as
natural
to
her
,
as
its
burrow
to
the
cony
,
its
hole
to
the
fox
.
It
did
not
occur
to
her
,
that
the
death
of
this
her
tyrant
could
not
but
make
some
sudden
and
startling
change
in
all
her
ways
and
fortune
.
She
waited
in
the
woods
all
day
;
it
was
so
strange
a
sense
to
her
to
be
free
of
the
bitter
bondage
that
had
lain
on
her
life
so
long
;
she
could
not
at
once
arise
and
understand
the
meaning
of
her
freedom
;
she
was
like
a
captive
soldier
,
who
had
dragged
the
cannon‐ball
so
long
,
that
when
it
is
loosened
from
his
limb
,
the
limb
feels
strange
,
and
his
step
sounds
uncompanioned
.
She
was
thankful
,
too
,
for
the
tortured
beasts
,
and
the
hunted
birds
;
she
fed
them
,
and
looked
in
their
gentle
eyes
,
and
told
them
that
they
were
free
.
But
in
her
own
heart
one
vain
wish
only
ached
—
she
thought
—
“
If
only
I
might
die
for
him
;
—
as
the
reed
for
the
god
!
”
The
people
returned
,
and
then
after
awhile
all
went
forth
again
;
they
and
their
priests
with
them
.
The
place
was
left
alone
.
The
old
solitude
reigned
;
the
sound
of
the
wood‐dove
only
filled
the
quiet
.
The
day
grew
on
;
in
the
orchards
it
was
already
twilight
,
whilst
on
the
waters
and
in
the
open
lands
farther
away
the
sun
was
bright
.
There
was
a
wicket
close
by
under
the
boughs
:
a
bridle‐path
ran
by
,
moss‐grown
,
and
little
used
,
but
leading
from
the
public
road
beyond
.
From
the
gleam
of
the
twisted
fruit
trees
a
low
flute‐like
noise
came
to
her
ear
in
the
shadow
of
the
solitude
.
“
Folle‐Farine
,
—
I
go
on
your
errand
.
If
you
repent
there
is
time
yet
to
stay
me
.
Say
—
do
you
bid
me
still
set
your
Norse‐god
free
from
the
Cave
of
the
Snakes
?
”
She
,
startled
,
looked
up
into
the
roofing
of
the
thick
foilage
;
she
saw
shining
on
her
with
a
quiet
smile
the
eyes
which
she
had
likened
to
the
eyes
of
the
Red
Mouse
.
They
scanned
her
gravely
and
curiously
:
they
noted
the
change
in
her
since
the
last
sun
had
set
.
“
What
did
he
say
to
you
for
your
gold
?
”
the
old
man
asked
.
She
was
silent
;
the
blood
of
an
intolerable
shame
burned
in
her
face
;
she
had
not
thought
that
she
had
betrayed
her
motive
in
seeking
a
price
for
her
chain
of
coins
.
He
laughed
a
little
softly
.
“
Ah
!
You
fancied
I
did
not
know
your
design
when
you
came
so
bravely
to
sell
your
Moorish
dancing‐gear
.
Oh
,
Folle‐Farine
!
—
female
things
,
with
eyes
like
yours
,
must
never
hope
to
keep
a
secret
?
”
She
never
answered
;
she
had
risen
and
stood
rooted
to
the
ground
,
her
head
hung
down
,
her
breast
heaving
,
the
blood
coming
and
going
in
her
intolerable
pain
,
as
though
she
flushed
and
frozen
under
a
surgeon’s
probe
.
“
What
did
he
say
to
you
?
”
pursued
her
questioner
.
“
There
should
be
but
one
language
possible
from
a
man
of
his
years
to
a
woman
of
yours
.
”
She
lifted
her
eyes
and
spoke
at
last
.
“
He
said
that
I
did
him
a
foul
shame
:
the
gold
lies
in
the
sands
of
the
river
.
”
She
was
strong
to
speak
the
truth
inflexibly
to
the
full
;
for
its
degradation
to
herself
she
knew
was
honour
to
the
absent
.
It
showed
him
strong
and
cold
and
untempted
,
preferring
famine
and
neglect
and
misery
to
any
debt
or
burden
of
a
service
done
.
The
old
man
,
leaning
on
the
wooden
bar
of
the
gate
amongst
the
leaves
,
looked
at
her
long
and
thoughtfully
.
“
He
would
not
take
your
poor
little
pieces
?
You
mean
that
?
”
She
gave
a
sign
of
assent
.
“
That
was
a
poor
reward
to
you
,
Folle‐Farine
!
”
Her
lips
grew
white
and
shut
together
.
“
Mine
was
the
fault
,
”
she
muttered
—
“
the
folly
.
He
was
right
,
no
doubt
.
”
“
You
are
very
loyal
.
I
think
your
Northern
god
was
only
thus
cold
because
your
gift
was
such
a
little
one
,
Folle‐Farine
.
”
A
strong
light
flashed
on
him
from
her
eyes
.
“
It
would
have
been
the
same
if
I
had
offered
him
an
empire
.
”
“
You
are
so
sure
?
Does
he
hate
you
then
—
this
god
of
yours
?
”
She
quivered
from
head
to
foot
;
but
her
courage
would
not
yield
,
her
faith
would
not
be
turned
.
“
Need
a
man
hate
the
dust
under
his
foot
?
”
she
muttered
in
her
teeth
;
“
Because
it
is
a
thing
too
lowly
for
him
to
think
of
as
he
walks
.
”
“
You
are
very
truthful
.
”
She
was
silent
;
standing
there
in
the
shadow
of
the
great
mill‐timbers
.
The
old
man
watched
her
with
calm
approving
eyes
,
as
he
might
have
watched
a
statue
of
bronze
.
He
was
a
great
man
,
a
man
of
much
wealth
,
of
wide
power
,
of
boundless
self‐indulgence
,
of
a
keen
serene
wisdom
,
which
made
his
passions
docile
ministers
to
his
pleasure
,
and
never
allowed
them
any
mastery
over
himself
.
He
was
studying
the
shape
of
her
limbs
,
the
hues
of
her
skin
,
the
lofty
slender
stature
of
her
form
,
and
the
cloud
of
her
hair
that
was
like
the
golden
gleaming
mane
of
a
young
desert
mare
.
“
All
these
in
Paris
,
”
he
was
thinking
.
“
Just
as
she
is
,
with
just
the
same
bare
feet
and
limbs
,
the
same
untrammelled
gait
,
the
same
flash
of
scarlet
round
her
loins
,
only
to
the
linen
tunic
a
hem
of
gold
,
and
on
the
breast
a
flame
of
opals
.
Paris
would
say
that
even
I
had
never
in
my
many
years
done
better
.
The
poor
barbarian
!
she
sells
her
little
brazen
sequins
,
and
thinks
them
her
only
treasure
,
whilst
she
has
all
that
!
Is
Arslàn
blind
,
or
is
he
only
tired
?
”
But
he
spake
none
of
his
thoughts
aloud
.
He
was
too
wary
to
scare
the
prey
he
meant
to
secure
with
any
screams
of
the
sped
arrow
,
or
any
sight
of
the
curled
lasso
.
“
Well
,
”
he
said
,
simply
,
“
I
understand
;
your
eagle
,
in
recompense
for
your
endeavours
to
set
him
free
,
only
tears
your
heart
with
his
talons
?
It
is
the
way
of
eagles
.
He
has
wounded
you
sorely
.
And
the
wound
will
bleed
many
a
day
.
”
She
lifted
her
head
.
“
Have
I
complained
?
—
have
I
asked
your
pity
,
or
any
man’s
?
”
“
Oh
,
no
,
you
are
very
strong
!
So
is
a
lioness
;
but
she
dies
of
a
man’s
wound
sometimes
.
He
has
been
very
base
to
you
.
”
“
He
has
done
as
he
thought
it
right
to
do
.
Who
shall
lay
blame
on
him
for
that
?
”
“
Your
loyalty
says
so
;
you
are
very
brave
,
no
doubt
.
But
tell
me
,
do
you
still
wish
this
man
,
who
wounds
you
so
cruelly
,
set
free
?
”
“
Yes
.
”
“
What
,
still
?
”
“
Why
not
?
”
“
Why
not
?
Only
this
:
that
once
he
is
let
loose
your
very
memory
will
be
shaken
from
his
thoughts
as
the
dust
of
the
summer
,
to
which
you
liken
yourself
,
is
shaken
from
his
feet
!
”
“
No
doubt
.
”
She
thought
she
did
not
let
him
see
the
agony
he
dealt
her
;
she
stood
unflinching
,
her
hands
crossed
upon
her
breast
,
her
head
drooped
,
her
eyes
looking
far
from
him
to
where
the
fading
sunlight
gleamed
still
upon
the
reaches
of
the
river
.
“
No
doubt
,
”
he
echoed
.
“
And
yet
I
think
you
hardly
understand
.
This
man
is
a
great
artist
.
He
has
a
great
destiny
,
if
he
once
can
gain
the
eye
and
the
ear
of
the
world
.
The
world
will
fear
him
,
and
curse
him
always
;
he
is
very
merciless
to
it
;
but
if
he
once
conquer
fame
,
that
fame
will
be
one
to
last
as
long
as
the
earth
lasts
.
That
I
believe
.
Well
,
give
this
man
what
he
longs
for
and
strives
for
,
a
life
in
his
fame
which
shall
not
die
so
long
as
men
have
breath
to
speak
of
art
.
What
will
you
be
in
that
great
drunken
dream
of
his
,
if
once
we
make
it
true
for
him
?
Not
even
a
remembrance
,
Folle‐Farine
.
For
though
you
have
fancied
that
you
,
by
your
beauty
,
would
at
least
abide
upon
his
canvas
,
and
so
go
on
to
immortality
with
his
words
and
name
,
you
seem
not
to
know
that
so
much
also
will
do
any
mime
who
lets
herself
for
hire
on
a
tavern
stage
,
or
any
starveling
who
makes
her
daily
bread
by
giving
her
face
and
form
to
a
painter’s
gaze
.
Child
!
what
you
have
thought
noble
,
men
and
women
have
decreed
one
of
the
vilest
means
by
which
a
creature
traffics
in
her
charms
.
The
first
lithe‐limbed
model
that
he
finds
in
the
cities
will
displace
you
on
his
canvas
and
in
his
memory
.
Shall
he
go
free
—
to
forget
you
?
”
She
listened
dumbly
;
her
attitude
unchanging
,
as
she
had
stood
in
other
days
,
under
the
shadow
of
the
boughs
,
to
receive
the
stripes
of
her
master
.
“
He
shall
be
free
—
to
forget
me
.
”
The
words
were
barely
audible
,
but
they
were
inflexible
,
as
they
were
echoed
through
her
locked
teeth
.
The
eyes
of
her
tormentor
watched
her
with
a
wondering
admiration
;
yet
he
could
not
resist
the
pleasure
of
an
added
cruelty
,
as
the
men
of
the
torture‐chambers
of
old
strained
once
more
the
fair
fettered
from
of
a
female
captive
,
that
they
might
see
a
little
longer
those
bright
limbs
quiver
,
and
those
bare
nerves
heave
.
“
Well
;
be
it
so
if
you
will
it
.
Only
think
long
enough
.
For
strong
though
you
are
,
you
are
also
weak
;
for
you
are
of
your
mother’s
sex
,
Folle‐Farine
.
You
may
repent
.
Think
well
.
You
are
no
more
to
him
than
your
eponymus
,
the
mill‐dust
.
You
have
said
so
to
yourself
.
But
you
are
beautiful
in
your
barbarism
;
and
here
you
are
always
near
him
;
and
with
a
man
who
has
no
gold
to
give
,
a
woman
need
have
few
rivals
to
fear
.
If
his
heart
eat
itself
out
here
in
solitude
,
soon
or
late
,
he
will
be
yours
,
Folle‐Farine
.
A
man
,
be
he
what
he
will
,
cannot
live
long
without
some
love
,
more
or
less
,
for
some
woman
.
A
little
while
,
and
your
Norse‐god
alone
here
,
disappointed
,
embittered
,
friendless
,
galled
by
poverty
,
and
powerless
to
escape
,
will
turn
to
you
,
and
find
a
sweetness
on
your
lips
,
a
balm
in
your
embrace
,
an
opium
draught
for
an
hour
,
at
least
,
in
that
wonderful
beauty
of
yours
.
A
woman
who
is
beautiful
,
and
who
has
youth
,
and
who
has
passion
,
need
never
fail
to
make
a
love‐light
beam
in
the
eyes
of
a
man
,
if
only
she
know
how
to
wait
,
if
only
she
be
the
sole
blossom
that
grows
in
his
pathway
,
the
sole
fruit
within
the
reach
of
his
hands
.
Keep
him
here
,
and
soon
or
late
,
out
of
sheer
despair
of
any
other
paradise
,
he
will
make
his
paradise
in
your
breast
.
Do
you
doubt
?
Child
,
I
have
known
the
world
many
years
,
but
this
one
thing
I
have
ever
known
to
be
stronger
than
any
strength
a
man
can
bring
against
it
to
withstand
it
—
this
one
thing
which
fate
has
given
you
,
the
bodily
beauty
of
a
woman
.
”
His
voice
ceased
softly
in
the
twilight
—
this
voice
of
Mephistopheles
—
which
tempted
her
but
for
the
sheer
sole
pleasure
of
straining
this
strength
to
see
if
it
should
break
—
of
deriding
this
faith
to
see
if
it
would
bend
—
of
alluring
this
soul
to
see
if
it
would
fall
.
She
stood
abased
in
a
piteous
shame
—
the
shame
that
any
man
should
thus
read
her
heart
,
—
which
seemed
to
burn
and
wither
up
all
liberty
,
all
innocence
,
all
pride
in
her
,
and
leave
her
a
thing
too
utterly
debased
to
bear
the
gaze
of
any
human
eyes
,
to
bear
the
light
of
any
noonday
sun
.
And
yet
the
terrible
sweetness
of
the
words
tempted
her
with
such
subtle
force
:
the
passions
of
a
fierce
,
amorous
race
ran
in
her
blood
,
—
the
ardour
and
the
liberty
of
an
outlawed
and
sensual
people
were
bred
with
her
flesh
and
blood
,
—
to
have
been
the
passion‐toy
of
the
man
she
loved
for
one
single
day
,
—
to
have
felt
for
one
brief
summer
night
his
arms
hold
her
and
his
kisses
answer
hers
,
she
would
have
consented
to
die
a
hundred
deaths
in
uttermost
tortures
when
the
morrow
should
have
dawned
,
and
would
have
died
rejoicing
,
crying
to
the
last
breath
,
—
“
I
have
lived
:
it
is
enough
!
”
He
might
be
hers
!
The
mere
thought
,
uttered
in
another’s
voice
,
thrilled
through
her
with
a
tumultuous
ecstacy
,
hot
as
flame
,
potent
as
wine
.
He
might
be
hers
—
all
her
own
—
each
pulse
of
his
heart
echoing
hers
,
each
breath
of
his
lips
spent
on
her
own
.
He
might
be
hers
!
—
she
hid
her
face
upon
her
hands
;
a
million
tongues
of
fire
seemed
to
curl
about
her
and
lap
her
life
.
The
temptation
was
stronger
than
her
strength
.
She
was
a
friendless
,
loveless
,
nameless
thing
,
and
she
had
but
one
idolatry
and
one
passion
,
and
for
this
joy
that
they
set
to
her
lips
she
would
have
given
her
body
and
her
soul
.
Her
soul
—
if
the
gods
and
man
allowed
her
one
—
her
soul
and
all
her
life
,
mortal
and
immortal
,
for
one
single
day
of
Arslàn’s
love
.
Her
soul
,
for
ever
,
to
any
hell
they
would
—
but
his
?
Not
for
this
had
she
sold
her
life
to
the
gods
—
not
for
this
;
not
for
the
raptures
of
passion
,
the
trance
of
the
senses
,
the
heaven
of
self
.
What
she
had
sworn
to
them
,
if
they
saved
him
,
was
for
ever
to
forget
in
him
herself
,
to
suffer
dumbly
for
him
,
and
,
whensoever
they
would
,
in
his
stead
to
die
.
“
Choose
,
”
said
the
soft
wooing
voice
of
her
tempter
,
while
his
gaze
smiled
on
her
through
the
twilight
.
“
Shall
he
consume
his
heart
here
in
solitude
till
he
loves
you
perforce
,
or
shall
he
go
free
amongst
the
cities
of
men
,
to
remember
you
no
more
than
he
remembers
the
reeds
by
the
river
?
”
The
reeds
by
the
river
.
The
chance
words
that
he
used
,
by
the
mere
hazards
of
speech
,
cut
the
bonds
of
passion
which
were
binding
so
close
about
her
.
As
the
river
reed
to
the
god
,
so
she
had
thought
that
her
brief
span
of
life
might
be
to
the
immortality
of
his
;
was
this
the
fulfilling
of
her
faith
?
To
hold
him
here
with
his
strength
in
chains
,
and
his
genius
perishing
in
darkness
,
that
she
,
the
thing
of
an
hour
,
might
know
delight
in
the
reluctant
love
,
in
the
wearied
embrace
,
of
a
man
heart‐sick
and
heart‐broken
?
She
shook
the
deadly
sweetness
of
the
beguilement
off
her
as
she
would
have
shaken
an
asp’s
coils
off
her
wrist
,
and
rose
against
it
,
and
was
once
more
strong
.
“
What
have
you
to
do
with
me
?
”
she
muttered
,
feebly
,
while
the
fierce
glare
of
her
eyes
burned
through
the
gloom
of
the
leaves
.
“
Keep
your
word
;
set
him
free
.
His
freedom
let
him
use
—
as
he
will
.
”
Then
,
ere
he
could
arrest
her
flight
,
she
hand
plunged
into
the
depths
of
the
orchards
,
and
was
lost
in
their
flickering
shadows
.
Sartorian
did
not
seek
to
pursue
her
.
He
turned
and
went
thoughtfully
and
slowly
back
by
the
grass‐grown
footpath
through
the
little
wood
,
along
by
the
river
side
,
to
the
water‐tower
.
His
horses
and
his
people
waited
near
,
but
it
suited
him
to
go
thither
on
this
errand
on
foot
and
alone
.
“
The
Red
Mouse
does
not
dwell
in
that
soul
as
yet
.
That
sublime
unreason
—
that
grand
barbaric
madness
!
And
yet
both
will
fall
to
gold
,
as
that
fruit
falls
to
the
touch
,
”
he
thought
,
as
he
brushed
a
ripe
yellow
pear
from
the
shelter
of
the
reddening
leaves
,
and
watched
it
drop
,
and
crushed
it
gently
with
his
foot
,
and
smiled
as
he
saw
that
though
so
golden
on
the
rind
,
and
so
white
and
so
fragrant
in
the
flesh
,
at
the
core
was
a
rotten
speck
,
in
which
a
little
black
worm
was
twisting
.
He
had
shaken
it
down
from
idleness
;
where
he
left
it
,
crushed
in
the
public
pathway
,
a
swarm
of
ants
and
flies
soon
crawled
,
and
flew
,
and
fought
,
and
fastened
,
and
fed
on
the
fallen
purity
,
which
the
winds
had
once
tossed
up
to
heaven
,
and
the
sun
had
once
kissed
into
bloom
.
CHAPTER
VI
.
THROUGH
the
orchards
,
as
his
footsteps
died
away
,
there
came
a
shrill
scream
on
the
silence
,
which
only
the
sighing
of
the
cushats
had
broken
.
It
was
the
voice
of
the
old
serving‐woman
,
who
called
on
her
name
from
the
porch
.
In
the
old
instinct
,
born
of
long
obedience
,
she
drew
her
self
wearily
through
the
tangled
ways
of
the
gardens
and
over
the
threshold
of
the
house
.
She
had
lost
all
remembrance
of
Flamma’s
death
,
and
of
the
inheritance
of
his
wealth
.
She
only
thought
of
those
great
and
noble
fruits
of
a
man’s
genius
which
she
had
given
up
all
to
save
;
she
only
thought
ceaselessly
,
in
the
sickness
of
her
heart
,
“
Will
he
forget
?
—
forget
quite
—
when
he
is
free
?
”
The
peasant
standing
in
the
porch
with
arms
a‐kimbo
,
and
the
lean
cat
rubbing
ravenous
sides
against
her
shoes
,
peered
forth
from
under
the
rich
red
leaves
of
the
creepers
that
shrouded
the
pointed
roof
of
the
door‐way
.
Her
wrinkled
face
was
full
of
malignity
;
her
toothless
mouth
smiled
;
her
eyes
were
full
of
a
greedy
triumph
.
Before
her
was
the
shady
,
quiet
,
leafy
garden
,
with
the
water
running
clear
beneath
the
branches
;
behind
her
was
the
kitchen
with
its
floor
of
tiles
,
its
strings
of
food
,
its
wood‐piled
hearth
,
its
crucifix
,
and
its
images
of
saints
.
She
looked
at
the
tired
limbs
of
the
creature
whom
she
had
always
hated
for
her
beauty
and
her
youth
;
at
the
droop
of
the
proud
head
,
at
the
pain
and
the
exhaustion
which
every
line
of
the
face
and
the
form
spoke
so
plainly
;
at
the
eyes
which
burned
so
strangely
as
she
came
through
the
grey
pure
air
,
and
yet
had
such
a
look
in
them
of
sightlessness
and
stupor
.
“
She
has
been
told
,
”
thought
the
old
serving‐woman
.
“
She
has
been
told
,
and
her
heart
breaks
for
the
gold
.
”
The
thought
was
sweet
to
her
—
precious
with
the
preciousness
of
vengeance
.
“
Come
within
,
”
she
said
,
with
a
grim
smile
about
her
mouth
.
“
I
will
give
thee
a
crust
and
a
drink
of
milk
.
None
shall
say
I
cannot
act
like
a
Christian
;
and
tonight
I
will
let
thee
rest
here
in
the
loft
,
but
no
longer
.
With
the
break
of
day
thou
shalt
tramp
.
We
are
Christians
here
.
”
Folle‐Farine
looked
at
her
with
blind
eyes
,
comprehending
nothing
that
she
spoke
.
“
You
called
me
?
”
she
asked
,
the
old
mechanical
formula
of
servitude
coming
to
her
lips
by
sheer
unconscious
instinct
.
“
Ay
,
I
called
.
I
would
have
thee
to
know
that
I
am
mistress
here
now
;
and
I
will
have
no
vile
things
gad
about
in
the
night
so
long
as
they
eat
of
my
bread
.
To‐night
thou
shalt
rest
here
,
I
say
;
so
much
will
I
do
for
sake
of
thy
mother
,
though
she
was
a
foul
light
o’love
;
when
all
men
deemed
her
a
saint
;
but
to‐morrow
thou
shalt
tramp
.
Such
hell‐spawn
as
thou
art
may
not
lie
on
a
bed
of
holy
church
.
”
Folle‐Farine
gazed
at
her
,
confused
and
still
,
not
comprehending
;
scarcely
awake
to
the
voice
which
thus
adjured
her
;
all
her
strength
spent
and
bruised
,
after
the
struggle
of
the
temptation
which
had
assailed
her
.
“
You
mean
,
”
she
muttered
,
“
you
mean
—
What
would
you
tell
me
?
I
do
not
know
.
”
The
familiar
place
reeled
around
her
.
The
saints
and
the
satyrs
on
the
carved
gables
grinned
on
her
horribly
.
The
yellow
house‐leek
on
the
roof
seemed
to
her
so
much
gold
,
which
had
a
tongue
,
and
muttered
,
“
You
prate
of
the
soul
.
I
alone
am
the
soul
of
the
world
.
”
All
the
green
,
shadowy
,
tranquil
ways
grew
strange
to
her
;
the
earth
shook
under
her
feet
;
the
heavens
circled
around
her
:
—
and
Pitchou
,
looking
on
her
,
thought
that
she
was
stunned
by
the
loss
of
the
miser’s
treasure
!
She
!
—
in
whose
whole
burning
veins
there
ran
only
one
passion
,
in
whose
crushed
brain
there
was
only
one
thought
—
“
Will
he
forget
—
forget
quite
—
when
he
is
free
?
”
The
old
woman
stretched
her
head
forward
,
and
cackled
out
eager
,
hissing
,
tumultuous
words
.
“
Hast
thou
not
heard
?
No
?
Well
,
see
then
.
Some
said
you
should
be
sent
for
,
but
the
priest
and
I
said
No.
Neither
Law
nor
Church
count
the
love‐begotten
.
Flamma
died
worth
forty
thousand
francs
,
set
aside
all
his
land
and
household
things
.
God
rest
his
soul
!
He
was
a
man
.
He
forgot
my
faithful
service
,
true
,
but
the
good
almoner
will
remember
all
that
to
me
.
Forty
thousand
francs
!
What
a
man
!
And
hardly
a
nettled
boiled
in
oil
would
he
eat
some
days
together
.
Where
does
this
money
go
—
eh
,
eh
?
Canst
guess
?
”
“
Go
?
”
Pitchou
watched
her
grimly
,
and
laughed
aloud
.
“
Ah
,
ah
!
I
know
.
So
you
dared
to
hope
too
?
Oh
fool
!
What
thing
did
ever
he
hate
as
he
hated
your
shadow
on
the
wall
?
The
money
,
and
the
lands
,
and
the
things
—
every
coin
,
every
inch
,
every
crumb
—
is
willed
away
to
the
Bishop
,
to
the
holy
Bishop
in
the
town
yonder
,
to
hold
for
the
will
of
God
and
the
glory
of
his
kingdom
.
And
masses
will
be
said
for
his
soul
,
daily
,
in
the
cathedral
;
and
the
gracious
almoner
has
as
good
as
said
that
the
mill
shall
be
let
to
Fraçvron
,
the
baker
,
who
is
old
and
has
no
women
to
his
house
;
and
that
I
shall
dwell
here
and
manage
all
things
,
and
rule
Fraçvron
,
and
end
my
days
in
the
chimney
corner
.
And
I
will
stretch
a
point
and
let
you
lie
in
the
hay
to‐night
,
but
to‐morrow
you
must
tramp
,
for
the
devil’s
daughter
and
Holy
Church
will
scarce
go
to
roost
together
.
Folle‐Farine
heard
her
stupidly
,
and
stupidly
gazed
around
;
she
did
not
understand
.
She
had
never
had
any
other
home
,
and
,
in
a
manner
,
even
in
the
apathy
of
a
far
greater
woe
,
she
clove
to
this
place
;
to
its
familiarity
,
and
its
silences
,
and
its
old
woodland
ways
.
“
Go
!
”
—
she
looked
down
through
the
aisles
of
the
boughs
dreamily
;
in
a
vague
sense
she
felt
the
sharpness
of
desolation
which
repulses
the
creature
whom
no
human
heart
desires
,
and
whom
no
human
voice
bids
stay
.
“
Yes
.
Go
;
and
that
quickly
,
”
said
the
peasant
,
with
a
sardonic
grin
.
“
I
serve
the
Church
now
.
It
is
not
for
me
to
harbour
such
as
thee
;
nor
is
it
fit
to
take
the
bread
of
the
poor
and
the
pious
to
feed
lips
as
accursed
as
are
thine
.
Thou
may’st
lie
here
to‐night
—
I
would
not
be
over
harsh
—
but
tarry
no
longer
.
Take
a
sup
and
a
bit
,
and
to
bed
.
Dost
hear
?
”
Folle‐Farine
,
without
a
word
in
answer
,
turned
on
her
heel
and
left
her
.
The
old
woman
watched
her
shadow
pass
across
the
threshold
,
and
away
down
the
garden
paths
between
the
green
lines
of
the
clipped
box
,
and
vanish
beyond
the
fall
of
drooping
fig
boughs
and
the
walls
of
ivy
and
of
laurel
;
then
with
a
chuckle
she
poured
out
her
hot
coffee
,
and
sat
in
her
corner
and
made
her
evening
meal
well
pleased
;
comfort
was
secured
her
for
the
few
years
which
she
had
to
live
,
and
she
was
revenged
for
the
loss
of
the
sequins
.
“
How
well
it
is
for
me
that
I
went
to
mass
every
Saint’s
day
,
”
she
thought
,
foreseeing
easy
years
and
plenty
under
the
rule
of
the
Church
and
of
old
deaf
Françvron
the
baker
.
Folle‐Farine
mounted
the
wooden
ladder
to
the
hayloft
which
had
been
her
sleeping‐chamber
,
there
took
the
little
linen
and
the
few
other
garments
which
belonged
to
her
,
folded
them
together
in
her
winter
sheep‐skin
,
and
sent
down
the
wooden
steps
once
more
,
and
out
of
the
mill‐garden
across
the
bridge
into
the
woods
.
She
had
no
fixed
purpose
even
for
the
immediate
hour
;
she
had
not
even
a
tangible
thought
for
her
future
.
She
acted
on
sheer
mechanical
impulse
,
like
one
who
does
sane
things
unconsciously
,
walking
abroad
in
the
trance
of
sleep
.
That
she
was
absolutely
destitute
scarcely
bore
any
sense
to
her
.
She
had
never
realised
that
this
begrudged
roof
and
scanty
fare
,
which
Flamma
had
bestowed
on
her
,
had
,
wretched
though
they
were
,
yet
been
all
the
difference
between
home
and
homelessness
—
between
existence
and
starvation
.
She
wandered
on
aimlessly
through
the
woods
.
She
paused
a
moment
on
the
river’s
edge
,
and
turned
and
looked
back
at
the
mill
and
the
house
.
Form
where
she
stood
,
she
could
see
its
brown
gables
and
its
peaked
roof
rising
from
masses
of
orchard
foilage
,
and
green
garden
leaves
;
further
round
it
,
closed
the
dark
belt
of
the
deep
chestnut
woods
.
She
looked
;
and
great
salt
tears
rushed
into
her
hot
eyes
and
blinded
them
.
She
had
been
hated
by
those
who
dwelt
there
,
and
had
there
known
only
pain
,
and
toil
,
and
blows
,
and
bitter
words
.
And
yet
the
place
itself
was
dear
to
her
;
its
homely
and
simple
look
,
its
quiet
garden
ways
,
its
dells
of
leafy
shadow
,
its
bright
and
angry
waters
,
its
furred
and
feathered
creatures
that
gave
it
life
and
loveliness
,
—
these
had
been
her
consolations
often
,
—
these
,
in
a
way
,
she
loved
.
Such
as
it
was
,
her
life
had
been
bound
up
with
it
;
and
though
often
its
cool
pale
skies
and
level
lands
had
been
a
prison
to
her
,
yet
her
heart
clove
to
it
in
this
moment
when
she
left
it
—
for
ever
.
She
looked
once
at
it
long
and
lingeringly
,
full
in
the
light
of
the
rising
sun
;
then
turned
and
went
on
her
way
.
She
walked
slowly
through
the
cool
evening
shadows
,
while
the
birds
fluttered
about
her
head
.
She
did
not
comprehend
the
terrible
fate
that
had
befallen
her
.
She
did
not
think
that
it
was
horrible
to
have
no
canopy
but
the
clear
sky
,
and
no
food
but
the
grain
rubbed
form
the
ripe
wheat‐ears
.
The
fever
of
conscious
passion
which
had
been
born
in
her
,
and
the
awe
of
the
lonely
death
that
she
had
witnessed
,
were
on
her
too
heavily
,
and
with
too
dreamy
and
delirious
an
absorption
,
to
leave
any
room
in
her
thoughts
for
the
bodily
perils
or
the
bodily
privations
of
her
fate
.
Some
vague
expectancy
of
some
great
horror
,
she
knew
not
what
,
was
on
her
.
She
was
as
in
a
trance
,
her
brain
was
giddy
,
her
eyes
blind
.
Though
she
walked
straightly
,
bearing
her
load
upon
her
head
,
on
and
on
as
through
the
familiar
paths
,
she
yet
had
no
goal
,
no
sense
of
what
she
meant
to
do
,
or
whither
she
desired
to
go
.
The
people
were
still
about
,
going
from
their
work
in
the
fields
,
and
their
day
at
the
town‐market
,
to
their
homesteads
and
huts
.
Every
one
of
them
cast
some
word
at
her
.
For
the
news
had
spread
by
sunset
over
all
the
country‐side
that
Flamma’s
treasures
were
gone
to
holy
Church
.
They
were
spoken
in
idleness
,
but
they
were
sharp
,
flouting
,
merciless
arrows
of
speech
,
that
struck
her
hardly
as
the
speakers
cast
them
,
and
laughed
,
and
