theyhad
seen
their
forms
in
the
clear
water
of
the
wells
every
time
that
they
had
brought
their
pitchers
thither
,
and
who
had
only
awakened
to
that
sweet
supreme
sense
of
power
,
and
of
possession
when
first
they
had
beheld
themselves
live
again
upon
his
canvas
.
“
You
are
glad
?
”
he
asked
her
at
length
.
She
covered
her
face
with
her
hands
.
“
I
am
frightened
!
”
Frightened
she
knew
not
why
,
and
utterly
ashamed
to
have
lain
thus
in
his
sight
,
to
have
slept
thus
under
his
eyes
,
yet
filled
with
ecstasy
,
to
think
that
she
was
lovely
enough
to
him
to
be
raised
amidst
those
marvelous
dreams
which
people
and
made
heaven
of
his
solitude
.
“
Well
then
—
let
me
paint
you
there
,
”
he
said
,
after
a
pause
.
“
I
am
too
poor
to
offer
you
a
reward
for
it
.
I
have
nothing
—
”
“
I
want
nothing
,
”
she
interrupted
him
,
quickly
,
while
a
dark
shadow
,
half
wrath
,
half
sorrow
,
swept
across
her
face
.
He
smiled
a
little
.
“
I
cannot
boast
the
same
.
But
,
since
you
care
for
all
these
hapless
things
that
are
imprisoned
here
,
do
me
,
their
painter
,
this
one
grace
.
Lie
there
,
in
the
shadow
again
,
as
you
were
when
you
slept
,
and
let
me
go
on
with
this
study
of
you
till
the
sun
sets
.
”
A
glory
beamed
over
all
her
face
.
Her
mouth
trembled
,
her
whole
frame
shook
like
a
reed
in
the
wind
.
“
If
you
care
!
”
she
said
,
brokenly
,
and
paused
.
It
seemed
to
her
impossible
that
this
form
of
hers
,
which
had
been
only
deemed
fit
for
the
whip
,
for
the
rope
,
for
the
shower
of
stones
,
could
have
any
grace
or
excellence
in
his
sight
;
it
seemed
to
her
impossible
that
this
face
of
hers
,
which
nothing
had
ever
kissed
except
the
rough
tongue
of
some
honest
dog
,
and
which
had
been
blown
on
by
every
storm‐
wind
,
beaten
on
by
every
summer
sun
,
could
have
colour
,
or
shape
,
or
aspect
that
could
ever
please
him
!
“
Certainly
I
care
.
Go
yonder
and
lie
as
you
were
lying
a
few
moments
ago
—
there
in
the
shadow
,
under
these
gods
.
”
She
was
used
to
give
obedience
—
the
dumb
unquestioning
obedience
of
the
pack‐horse
or
the
sheep‐dog
,
and
she
had
no
idea
for
an
instant
of
refusal
.
It
was
a
great
terror
to
her
to
hear
his
voice
and
feel
his
eyes
on
her
,
and
be
so
near
to
him
;
yet
it
was
equally
a
joy
sweeter
and
deeper
than
she
had
ever
dreamed
of
as
possible
.
He
still
seemed
to
her
like
a
god
,
this
man
under
whose
hand
flowers
bloomed
,
and
sun‐rays
smiled
,
and
waters
flowed
,
and
human
forms
arose
,
and
the
gracious
shapes
of
a
thousand
dreams
grew
into
substance
.
And
yet
,
in
herself
,
this
man
saw
beauty
!
He
motioned
her
with
a
careless
,
gentle
gesture
,
as
one
motions
a
timid
dog
,
to
the
spot
over
which
the
three
brethren
watched
hand
in
hand
;
and
she
stretched
herself
down
passively
and
humbly
,
meekly
as
the
dog
stretches
himself
to
rest
at
his
master’s
command
.
Over
all
her
body
the
blood
was
leaping
;
her
limbs
shuddered
;
her
breath
came
and
went
in
broken
murmurs
;
her
bright‐hued
skin
grew
dark
and
white
by
turns
;
she
was
filled
with
a
passionate
delight
that
he
had
found
anything
in
her
to
desire
or
deem
fair
;
and
she
quivered
with
a
tumultuous
fear
that
made
her
nervous
as
any
panting
hare
.
Her
heart
beat
as
it
had
never
done
when
the
people
had
raged
in
their
fury
around
her
.
One
living
creature
had
found
beauty
in
her
;
one
human
voice
had
spoken
to
her
gently
and
without
a
curse
;
one
man
had
thought
her
a
thing
to
be
entreated
and
not
scorned
;
—
a
change
so
marvelous
in
her
fate
transfigured
all
the
world
for
her
,
as
though
the
gods
above
had
touched
her
lips
with
fire
.
But
she
was
mute
and
motionless
;
the
habit
of
silence
and
of
repression
had
become
her
second
nature
:
no
statue
of
marble
could
have
been
stiller
,
or
in
semblance
more
lifeless
,
than
she
was
where
she
rested
on
the
stones
.
Arslàn
noticed
nothing
of
this
;
he
was
intent
upon
his
work
.
The
sun
was
very
near
its
setting
,
and
every
second
of
its
light
was
precious
to
him
.
The
world
indeed
he
knew
would
in
all
likelihood
never
be
the
wiser
or
the
richer
for
anything
he
did
;
in
all
likelihood
he
knew
all
these
things
that
he
created
were
destined
to
moulder
away
undisturbed
save
by
the
rats
that
might
gnaw
,
and
the
newts
that
might
traverse
,
them
.
He
was
buried
here
in
the
grave
of
a
hopeless
penury
,
of
an
endless
oblivion
.
They
were
buried
with
him
;
and
the
world
wanted
neither
him
nor
them
.
Still
,
having
the
madness
of
genius
,
he
was
as
much
the
slave
of
his
art
as
though
an
universal
fame
had
waited
his
lowliest
and
lightest
effort
.
With
a
deep
breath
that
had
half
a
sigh
in
it
he
threw
down
his
brushes
when
the
darkness
fell
.
While
he
wrought
,
he
forgot
the
abject
bitterness
of
his
life
;
when
he
ceased
work
,
he
remembered
how
hateful
a
thing
it
is
to
live
when
life
means
only
deprivation
,
obscurity
,
and
failure
.
He
thanked
her
with
a
few
words
of
gratitude
to
her
for
her
patience
,
and
released
her
from
the
strain
of
the
attitude
.
She
rose
slowly
with
an
odd
dazzled
look
upon
her
face
,
like
one
coming
out
of
great
darkness
into
the
full
blaze
of
day
.
Her
eyes
sought
the
portrait
of
her
own
form
,
which
was
still
hazy
and
unformed
,
amidst
a
mist
of
varying
hues
:
that
she
should
be
elected
to
have
a
part
with
those
glorious
things
which
were
the
companions
of
his
lowliness
seemed
to
her
a
wonder
so
strange
and
so
immeasurable
that
her
mind
still
could
not
grasp
it
.
For
it
was
greatness
to
her
:
a
greatness
absolute
and
incredible
.
The
men
had
stoned
,
the
women
cursed
,
the
children
hooted
her
;
but
he
selected
her
—
and
her
alone
—
for
that
supreme
honour
which
his
hand
could
give
.
Not
noticing
the
look
upon
her
face
he
placed
before
her
on
the
rude
bench
,
which
served
in
that
place
for
a
table
,
some
score
of
small
studies
in
colour
,
trifles
brilliant
as
the
rainbow
,
birds
,
flowers
,
insects
,
a
leaf
of
fern
,
an
orchid
in
full
bloom
,
a
nest
with
a
blue
warbler
in
it
,
a
few
peasants
by
a
wayside
cross
,
a
child
at
a
well
,
a
mule
laden
with
autumn
fruit
—
anything
which
in
the
district
had
caught
his
sight
or
stirred
his
fancy
.
He
bade
her
choose
from
them
.
“
There
is
nothing
else
here
,
”
he
added
.
“
But
since
you
care
for
such
things
,
take
as
may
of
them
as
you
will
as
recompense
.
”
Her
face
flushed
up
to
the
fringes
of
her
hair
;
her
eyes
looked
at
the
sketches
in
longing
.
Except
for
the
scarlet
scarf
of
Marcellin
,
this
was
the
only
gift
she
had
ever
had
offered
her
.
And
all
these
reproductions
of
the
world
around
her
were
to
her
like
so
much
sorcery
.
Owning
one
,
she
would
have
worshipped
it
,
revered
it
,
caressed
it
,
treasured
it
;
her
life
was
so
desolate
and
barren
that
such
a
gift
seemed
to
her
as
handsfull
of
gold
and
silver
would
seem
to
a
beggar
were
he
bidden
to
take
them
and
be
rich
.
She
stretched
out
her
arms
in
one
quick
longing
gesture
;
then
as
suddenly
withdrew
them
,
folding
them
on
her
chest
,
whilst
her
face
grew
very
pale
.
Something
of
its
old
dark
proud
ferocity
gathered
on
it
.
“
I
want
no
payment
,
”
she
said
,
huskily
,
and
she
turned
to
the
threshold
and
crossed
it
.
“
Wait
.
I
did
not
mean
to
hurt
you
.
Will
you
not
take
them
as
reward
?
”
“
No.
”
She
spoke
almost
suddenly
;
there
was
a
certain
sharpness
and
dulness
of
disappointment
at
her
heart
.
She
wanted
,
she
wished
,
she
knew
not
what
.
But
not
that
he
should
offer
her
payment
.
“
Can
you
return
to‐morrow
?
or
any
other
day
?
”
he
asked
her
,
thinking
of
the
sketch
unfinished
on
the
sheet
of
pinewood
.
He
did
not
notice
the
beating
of
her
heart
under
her
folded
arms
,
the
quick
gasp
of
her
breath
,
the
change
of
the
rich
colour
in
her
face
.
“
If
you
wish
,
”
she
answered
him
below
her
breath
.
“
I
do
wish
,
surely
.
The
sketch
is
all
unfinished
yet
.
”
“
I
will
come
then
.
”
She
moved
away
from
him
across
the
threshold
as
she
spoke
;
she
was
not
afraid
of
the
people
,
but
she
was
afraid
of
this
strange
,
passionate
sweetness
,
which
seemed
to
fill
her
veins
with
fire
and
make
her
drunk
and
blind
.
“
Shall
I
go
with
you
homeward
?
”
She
shook
her
head
.
“
But
the
people
who
struck
you
!
—
they
may
attack
you
again
?
”
She
laughed
a
little
;
low
in
her
throat
.
“
I
showed
them
a
knife
!
—
they
are
timid
as
hares
.
”
“
You
are
always
by
yourself
?
”
“
Always
.
”
She
drew
herself
with
a
rapid
movement
from
him
and
sprang
into
her
boat
where
it
rocked
amidst
the
rushes
against
the
steps
;
in
another
instant
she
had
thrust
it
from
its
entanglement
in
the
reeds
,
and
pulled
with
swift
,
steady
strokes
down
the
stream
into
the
falling
shadows
of
the
night
.
“
You
will
come
back
?
”
he
called
to
her
as
the
first
stroke
parted
the
water
.
“
Yes
,
”
she
answered
him
;
and
the
boat
shot
forward
into
the
shadow
.
Night
was
near
and
the
darkness
soon
enclosed
it
;
the
beat
of
the
oars
sounding
faintly
through
the
silence
of
the
evening
.
There
was
little
need
to
exact
the
promise
from
her
.
Like
Persephone
she
had
eaten
of
the
fatal
pomegranate
seed
,
which
,
whether
she
would
or
no
,
would
make
her
leave
the
innocence
of
youth
,
and
the
light
of
the
sun
and
the
blossoms
of
the
glad
green
spring‐time
world
,
and
draw
her
footsteps
backward
and
downward
to
that
hell
which
none
,
—
once
having
entered
it
,
—
can
ever
more
forsake
.
She
had
drifted
away
from
him
into
the
shadows
of
evening
as
they
died
from
the
shore
and
the
stream
into
the
gloom
of
the
night
.
He
thought
no
more
of
pursuing
her
than
he
thought
of
chasing
the
melted
shadows
.
Returning
to
his
chamber
he
looked
for
some
minutes
at
the
panel
where
it
leaned
against
the
wall
,
catching
the
first
pallid
moon‐gleam
of
the
night
.
“
If
she
should
not
come
,
it
will
be
of
little
moment
,
”
he
thought
.
“
I
have
nearly
enough
for
remembrance
there
.
”
And
he
went
away
from
the
painting
,
and
took
up
charcoal
and
turned
to
those
anatomical
studies
whose
severity
he
never
spared
himself
,
and
for
whose
perfecting
he
pursued
the
science
of
form
even
in
the
bodies
of
the
dead
.
From
the
moment
that
his
hand
touched
the
stylus
he
forgot
her
;
for
she
was
no
more
to
him
than
a
chance
bird
that
he
might
have
taken
from
its
home
amidst
the
ripe
red
autumn
foliage
and
caged
for
a
while
to
study
its
grace
and
colour
,
its
longing
eye
and
drooping
wing
;
and
then
tossed
up
into
the
air
again
,
when
he
had
done
with
it
,
to
find
its
way
to
freedom
,
or
to
fall
into
the
fowler’s
snare
;
—
what
matter
which
?
CHAPTER
III
.
THE
boat
went
on
into
the
darkness
under
the
willow
banks
,
past
the
great
Calvary
,
whose
lanthorn
was
just
lit
and
glimmered
through
the
gloom
.
She
knew
by
heart
the
old
familiar
way
;
and
the
water
was
as
safe
to
her
as
the
broadest
,
straightest
road
at
noonday
.
She
loved
it
best
thus
;
dusky
:
half
seen
;
muttering
on
through
the
silence
;
full
of
the
shadows
of
the
clouds
and
of
the
boughs
;
black
as
a
fresh
dug
grave
where
some
ruined
wall
leaned
over
it
;
broken
into
liitle
silvery
gleams
where
it
caught
the
light
from
a
saint’s
shrine
or
a
smith’s
forge
.
By
day
a
river
is
but
the
highway
of
men
;
it
is
but
a
public
bridge
betwixt
the
country
and
the
town
;
but
at
night
it
grows
mystical
,
silent
,
solitary
,
unreal
,
with
the
sound
of
the
sea
in
its
murmurings
and
the
peace
of
death
in
its
calm
;
at
night
,
through
its
ceaseless
whisperings
,
there
always
seem
to
arise
echoes
from
all
the
voices
of
the
drowned
multitudes
of
the
ocean
whence
it
comes
,
and
from
all
the
voices
of
the
living
multitudes
of
the
city
whither
it
goes
.
It
was
quite
dark
when
she
reached
the
landing
steps
;
the
moon
was
just
rising
above
the
sharp
gables
of
the
mill‐house
,
and
a
lanthorn
was
moving
up
and
down
behind
the
budded
boughs
as
Claudis
Flamma
went
to
and
fro
in
his
wood‐yard
.
At
the
jar
of
the
boat
against
the
steps
he
peered
through
the
branches
,
and
greeted
her
with
a
malignant
reprimand
.
He
timed
her
services
to
the
minute
;
and
here
had
been
a
full
half‐day
of
the
spring
weather
wasted
,
and
lost
to
him
.
He
drove
her
indoors
with
sharp
railing
and
loud
reproaches
;
not
waiting
for
an
answer
,
but
heaping
on
her
the
bitterest
terms
of
reviling
that
his
tongue
could
gather
.
In
the
kitchen
a
little
low‐burning
lamp
lit
dully
the
poverty
and
dreariness
of
the
place
,
and
shed
its
orange
rays
on
the
ill‐tempered
,
puckered
,
gloomy
face
of
the
old
woman
Pitchou
sitting
at
her
spindle
;
there
was
a
curious
odour
of
sun‐dried
herbs
and
smoke‐dried
fish
that
made
the
air
heavy
and
pungent
;
the
great
chimney
yawned
black
and
fireless
;
a
starveling
cat
mewed
dolorously
over
an
empty
platter
;
under
a
tawdry‐coloured
print
of
the
Flight
into
Egypt
,
there
hung
on
a
nail
three
dead
blackbirds
,
shot
as
they
sang
the
praises
of
the
spring
;
on
a
dresser
,
beside
a
little
white
basin
of
holy
water
,
there
lay
a
grey
rabbit
,
dead
likewise
,
with
limbs
broken
and
bleeding
from
the
trap
in
which
it
had
writhed
helpless
all
through
the
previous
night
.
The
penury
,
dulness
,
and
cruelty
,
the
hardness
,
barrenness
,
and
unloveliness
of
this
life
in
which
she
abode
had
never
struck
her
with
a
sense
so
sharp
as
that
which
now
fell
on
her
;
crossing
the
threshold
of
this
dreary
place
after
the
shadows
of
the
night
,
the
beauty
of
the
gods
,
the
voice
of
praise
,
the
eyes
of
Arslàn
.
She
came
into
the
room
,
bringing
with
her
the
cool
fragrance
of
damp
earth
,
wet
leaves
,
and
wild
flowers
;
the
moisture
of
the
evening
was
on
her
clothes
and
hair
;
her
bare
feet
sparkled
with
the
silvery
spray
of
dew
;
her
eyes
had
the
look
of
blindness
yet
of
lustre
that
the
night
air
lends
;
and
on
her
face
there
was
a
mingling
of
puzzled
pain
and
of
rapturous
dreaming
wonder
,
which
new
thought
and
fresh
feeling
had
brought
there
to
break
up
its
darkness
into
light
.
The
old
woman
,
twirling
a
flaxen
thread
upon
her
wheel
,
looked
askance
at
her
,
and
mumbled
—
“
like
mother
,
like
child
.
”
The
old
man
,
catching
up
the
lamp
,
held
it
against
her
face
,
and
peered
at
her
under
his
grey
bent
brows
.
“
A
whole
day
wasted
!
”
he
swore
for
the
twentieth
time
,
in
his
teeth
.
“
Beast
!
What
hast
thou
to
say
for
thyself
?
”
The
old
dogged
ferocity
gathered
over
her
countenance
,
chasing
away
the
softened
perplexed
radiance
that
had
been
newly
awakened
there
.
“
I
say
nothing
,
”
she
answered
.
“
Nothing
!
nothing
!
”
he
echoed
after
her
.
“
Then
we
will
find
a
way
to
make
thee
speak
.
Nothing
!
—
when
three
of
the
clock
should
have
seen
thee
back
hither
at
latest
,
and
five
hours
since
then
have
gone
by
without
account
.
You
have
spent
it
in
brawling
and
pleasure
—
in
shame
and
iniquity
—
in
vice
and
in
violence
,
thou
creature
of
sin
!
”
“
Since
you
know
,
why
ask
?
”
She
spoke
with
steady
contemptuous
calm
.
She
disdained
to
seek
refuge
from
his
fury
by
pleading
the
injuries
that
the
townsfolk
had
wrought
her
;
and
of
the
house
by
the
river
,
she
would
not
have
spoken
though
they
had
killed
her
.
The
storm
of
his
words
raged
on
uninterrupted
.
“
Five
hours
,
five
mortal
hours
,
stolen
from
me
,
your
lawful
work
left
undone
that
you
may
riot
in
some
secret
abomination
that
you
dare
not
to
name
.
Say
where
you
have
been
,
what
you
have
done
,
you
spawn
of
hell
,
or
I
will
wring
your
throat
as
I
wring
a
sparrow’s
!
”
“
I
have
done
as
I
chose
.
”
She
looked
him
full
in
the
eyes
as
she
spoke
,
with
the
look
in
her
own
that
a
bull’s
have
when
he
lowers
his
head
to
the
charge
and
attack
.
“
As
you
choose
!
Oh‐ho
!
You
would
speak
as
queens
speak
—
you
—
a
thing
less
than
the
worm
and
the
emmet
.
As
you
choose
—
you
!
—
who
have
not
a
rag
on
your
back
,
not
a
crust
of
rye
bread
,
not
a
leaf
of
salad
to
eat
,
not
a
lock
of
hay
for
your
bed
,
that
is
not
mine
—
mine
—
mine
.
As
you
choose
.
You
!
—
you
thing
begotten
in
infamy
;
you
slave
;
you
beggar
;
you
sloth
!
You
are
nothing
—
nothing
less
than
the
blind
worm
that
crawls
in
the
sand
.
You
have
the
devil
that
bred
you
in
you
,
no
doubt
;
but
it
shall
go
hard
if
I
cannot
conquer
him
when
I
bruise
your
body
and
break
your
will
.
”
As
he
spoke
he
seized
her
to
strike
her
;
in
his
hand
he
already
gripped
an
oak
stick
that
he
had
brought
in
with
him
from
his
timber‐yard
,
and
he
raised
it
to
rain
blows
on
her
,
expecting
no
other
course
than
the
dumb
,
passive
,
scornful
submission
with
which
she
had
hitherto
accepted
whatsoever
he
had
chosen
to
do
against
her
.
But
in
lieu
of
the
creature
,
silent
and
stirless
,
who
before
had
stood
to
receive
his
lashes
as
though
her
body
were
of
bronze
or
wood
,
that
felt
not
,
a
leonine
and
superb
animal
sprang
up
in
full
rebellion
.
She
started
out
of
his
grasp
,
her
lithe
form
springing
from
his
seizure
as
a
willow
bough
that
has
been
bent
to
earth
springs
back
,
released
,
into
the
air
.
She
caught
the
staff
in
both
her
hands
,
wrenched
it
by
a
sudden
gesture
from
him
,
and
flung
it
away
to
the
farther
end
of
the
chamber
;
then
she
turned
on
him
as
a
hart
turns
brought
to
bay
.
Her
supple
body
was
erect
like
a
young
pine
;
her
eyes
flushed
with
a
lustre
he
had
never
seen
in
them
;
the
breath
came
hard
and
fast
through
her
dilated
nostrils
;
her
mouth
curled
and
quivered
.
“
Touch
me
again
!
”
she
cried
aloud
,
while
her
voice
rang
full
and
imperious
through
the
stillness
.
“
Touch
me
again
;
and
by
the
heaven
and
hell
you
prate
of
,
I
will
kill
you
!
”
So
sudden
was
the
revolt
,
so
sure
the
menace
,
that
he
old
man
dropped
his
hands
and
stood
and
gazed
at
her
aghast
and
staring
;
not
recognizing
the
mute
,
patient
,
dog‐like
thing
that
he
had
beaten
at
will
,
in
this
stern
,
fearless
,
splendid
,
terrible
creature
,
who
faced
him
in
all
the
royalty
of
wrath
,
in
all
the
passion
of
insurrection
.
He
could
not
tell
what
had
altered
her
,
what
had
wrought
this
transformation
,
what
had
changed
her
as
by
sorcery
;
he
could
not
tell
that
what
had
aroused
a
human
soul
in
her
had
been
the
first
human
voice
that
she
had
listened
to
in
love
;
he
could
not
tell
that
her
body
had
grown
sacred
to
her
because
a
stranger
had
called
her
beautiful
,
and
that
her
life
for
the
first
time
had
acquired
a
worth
and
dignity
in
her
sight
because
one
man
had
deemed
it
fair
.
He
could
not
tell
;
he
could
only
see
that
for
the
first
time
his
slave
had
learned
somewhere
,
and
in
some
wise
,
what
freedom
meant
;
and
had
escaped
him
.
This
alone
he
saw
;
and
,
seeing
it
,
was
startled
and
afraid
.
She
waited
,
watching
him
some
moments
,
with
cold
eyes
of
disdain
,
in
which
a
smouldering
fire
slept
,
ready
to
burst
into
an
all‐devouring
flame
.
There
was
not
a
sound
in
the
place
;
the
woman
spinning
stopped
her
wheel
,
wondering
in
a
half‐stupid
,
savage
fashion
;
the
lean
cat
ceased
its
cries
;
there
was
only
the
continual
swish
of
the
water
in
the
sluices
under
the
wall
without
,
and
the
dull
ticking
of
the
old
Black
Forest
clock
,
that
kept
a
fitful
measure
of
the
days
and
nights
in
its
cracked
case
of
painted
wood
,
high
up
,
where
the
thyme
,
and
the
sage
,
and
the
onions
hung
among
the
twisted
rafters
.
Folle‐Farine
stood
still
,
her
left
hand
resting
on
her
hip
,
her
lips
curved
scornfully
and
close
,
her
face
full
of
passion
,
which
she
kept
as
still
as
the
dead
birds
hanging
on
the
wall
;
whilst
all
the
time
the
tawny
smoky
hues
of
the
oil‐
lamp
were
wavering
with
an
odd
fantastic
play
over
her
head
and
limbs
.
Before
this
night
,
she
had
always
taken
every
blow
and
stripe
patiently
,
without
vengeance
,
without
effort
,
as
she
saw
the
mule
and
the
dog
,
the
horse
and
the
ox
,
take
theirs
in
their
pathetic
patience
,
in
their
noble
fortitude
.
She
had
thought
that
such
were
her
daily
portion
as
such
as
was
the
daily
bread
she
broke
.
But
now
,
since
she
had
awakened
with
the
smile
of
the
gods
upon
her
,
now
,
she
felt
that
sooner
than
endure
again
that
indignity
,
that
outrage
,
she
would
let
her
tyrant
kill
her
in
his
hate
,
if
so
he
chose
,
and
cast
her
body
to
the
mill‐stream
,
moaning
through
the
trees
beneath
the
moon
;
the
water
,
at
least
,
would
bear
her
with
it
,
tranquil
and
undefiled
,
beneath
the
old
grey
walls
and
past
the
eyes
of
Arslàn
.
There
was
that
in
her
look
which
struck
dumb
the
mouth
,
and
held
motionless
the
arm
,
of
Claudis
Flamma
.
Caustic
,
savage
,
hard
as
his
own
ash
staff
though
he
was
,
he
was
for
the
moment
paralysed
and
unmanned
.
Some
vague
sense
of
shame
stirred
heavily
in
him
;
some
vague
remembrance
passed
over
him
,
that
,
whatsoever
else
she
might
be
,
she
had
been
once
borne
in
his
daughter’s
bosom
,
and
kissed
by
his
daughter’s
lips
,
and
sent
to
him
by
a
dead
woman’s
will
,
with
a
dead
woman’s
wretchedness
and
loneliness
as
her
sole
birth‐gifts
.
He
passed
his
hands
over
his
eyes
with
a
blinded
gesture
,
staring
hard
at
her
in
the
dusky
lamplight
.
He
was
a
strong
and
bitter
old
man
,
made
cruel
by
one
great
agony
,
and
groping
his
way
savagely
through
a
dark
,
hungry
,
superstitious
,
ignorant
life
.
But
in
that
moment
he
no
more
dared
to
touch
her
than
he
would
have
dared
to
tear
down
the
leaden
Christ
from
off
its
crucifix
,
and
trample
it
under
foot
,
and
spit
on
it
.
He
turned
away
,
muttering
in
his
throat
,
and
kicking
the
cat
from
his
path
,
while
he
struck
out
the
light
with
his
staff
.
“
Get
to
thy
den
,
”
he
said
,
with
a
curse
.
“
We
are
a‐bed
too
late
.
To‐morrow
I
will
deal
with
thee
.
”
She
went
without
a
word
out
of
the
dark
kitchen
and
up
the
ladder‐like
stairs
,
up
to
her
lair
in
the
roof
.
She
said
nothing
;
it
was
not
in
her
nature
to
threaten
twice
,
or
twice
protest
;
but
in
her
heart
she
knew
that
neither
the
next
day
,
nor
any
other
day
,
should
that
which
Arslàn
had
called
“
beauty
,
”
be
stripped
and
struck
whilst
life
was
in
her
to
preserve
it
by
death
from
that
indignity
.
From
the
time
of
her
earliest
infancy
,
she
had
been
used
to
bare
her
shoulders
to
the
lash
,
and
take
the
stripes
as
food
and
wages
;
she
had
no
more
thought
to
resist
them
than
the
brave
hound
,
who
fears
no
foe
on
earth
,
has
to
resist
his
master’s
blows
;
the
dull
habits
of
a
soulless
bondage
had
been
too
strong
on
her
to
be
lightly
broken
,
and
the
resignation
of
the
loyal
beasts
that
were
her
comrades
,
had
been
the
one
virtue
that
she
had
learnt
to
follow
.
But
no
at
length
she
had
burst
her
bonds
,
and
had
claimed
her
freedom
.
She
had
tasted
the
freshness
of
liberty
,
and
the
blood
burned
like
fire
in
her
face
as
she
remembered
the
patience
and
the
shame
of
the
years
of
her
slavery
.
There
was
no
mirror
in
her
little
lair
in
the
gabled
eaves
;
all
the
mirror
she
had
ever
known
had
been
that
which
she
had
shared
with
the
water‐lilies
,
when
together
she
and
they
had
leaned
over
the
smooth
dark
surface
of
the
mill‐pond
.
But
the
moon
streamed
clearly
through
the
one
unshuttered
window
,
a
moon
full
and
clear
,
and
still
cold
;
the
spring‐tide
moon
,
from
which
the
pale
primroses
borrow
those
tender
hues
of
theirs
,
which
never
warm
or
grow
deeper
,
however
golden
be
the
sun
that
my
shine
.
Its
colourless
crescent
went
sailing
past
the
little
square
lattice
hole
in
the
wall
;
masses
of
gorgeous
cloud
,
white
and
black
,
swept
by
in
a
fresh
west
wind
;
the
fresh
breath
of
a
spring
night
chased
away
the
heat
and
languor
of
the
day
;
the
smell
of
all
the
blossoms
of
the
spring
rose
up
from
wood
and
orchard
;
the
cool
,
drowsy
murmuring
of
the
mill‐stream
beneath
was
the
only
sound
on
the
stillness
,
except
when
now
and
then
there
came
the
wild
cry
of
a
mating
owl
.
The
moonbeams
fell
about
her
where
she
stood
;
and
she
looked
down
on
her
smooth
skin
,
her
glistening
shoulders
,
her
lustrous
and
abundant
hair
,
on
which
the
wavering
light
played
and
undulated
.
The
most
delicious
gladness
that
a
woman’s
life
can
know
was
in
tumult
in
her
,
conflicting
with
the
new
and
deadly
sense
of
shame
and
ignorance
.
She
learned
that
she
was
beautiful
,
at
the
same
time
that
she
awoke
to
the
knowledge
of
her
dumb
,
lifeless
,
slavish
inferiority
to
all
other
human
beings
.
“
Beautiful
!
”
she
muttered
to
herself
,
“
only
as
a
poppy
as
a
snake
,
as
a
night
moth
are
beautiful
—
beautiful
—
and
without
fragrance
,
or
sweetness
,
or
worth
!
”
And
her
heart
was
heavy
,
even
amidst
all
its
pleasure
and
triumph
,
heavy
with
a
sense
of
utter
ignorance
and
utter
worthlessness
.
The
poppy
was
snapped
asunder
as
a
weed
,
the
snake
was
shunned
and
cursed
for
his
poison
,
the
night
moth
was
killed
because
his
nature
had
made
him
dwell
in
the
darkness
;
none
of
the
three
might
have
any
fault
in
truth
in
them
;
all
of
the
three
might
have
only
the
livery
of
evil
,
and
no
more
;
might
be
innocent
,
and
ask
only
to
breathe
and
live
for
a
little
brief
space
in
their
world
,
which
men
called
God’s
world
.
Yet
were
they
condemned
by
men
,
and
slain
,
being
what
they
were
,
although
God
made
them
.
Even
so
she
felt
,
without
reasoning
,
had
it
been
,
and
would
it
be
with
herself
.
CHAPTER
IV
.
IN
the
room
below
,
the
old
Norman
woman
who
did
not
fear
her
taskmaster
,
unbarred
the
shutter
to
let
the
moon
shine
in
the
room
,
and
by
its
light
put
away
her
wheel
and
work
,
and
cut
a
halved
lettuce
up
upon
a
platter
,
with
some
dry
bread
,
and
ate
them
for
her
supper
.
The
old
man
knelt
down
before
the
leaden
image
,
and
joined
his
knotted
hands
,
and
prayed
in
a
low
,
fierce
,
eager
voice
,
while
the
heavy
pendulum
of
the
clock
swung
wearily
to
and
fro
.
The
clock
kept
fitful
and
uncertain
time
;
it
had
been
so
long
imprisoned
in
the
gloom
there
among
the
beams
and
cobwebs
,
and
in
this
place
life
was
so
dull
,
so
colourless
,
so
torpid
,
that
it
seemed
to
have
forgotten
how
time
truly
went
,
and
to
wake
up
now
and
then
with
a
shudder
of
remembrance
,
in
which
its
works
ran
madly
down
.
The
old
woman
ended
her
supper
,
munching
the
lettuce‐leaves
thirstily
in
her
toothless
mouth
,
and
not
casting
so
much
as
a
crumb
of
the
crusts
to
the
cat
,
who
pitifully
watched
,
and
mutely
implored
,
with
great
ravenous
amber‐circled
eyes
.
Then
she
took
her
stick
and
crept
out
of
the
kitchen
,
her
wooden
shoes
clacking
loud
on
the
bare
red
bricks
.
“
Prayer
did
little
to
keep
holy
the
other
one
,
”
she
muttered
;
“
unless
,
indeed
,
the
devil
heard
and
answered
.
”
But
Claudis
Flamma
for
all
that
prayed
on
,
entreating
the
mercy
and
guidance
of
heaven
,
whilst
the
gore
dripped
from
the
dead
rabbit
,
and
the
silent
song
birds
hung
stiff
upon
the
nail
.
“
Thou
hast
a
good
labourer
,
”
said
the
old
woman
,
Pitchou
,
with
curt
significance
,
to
her
master
,
meeting
him
in
the
raw
of
the
dawn
,
on
the
morrow
,
as
he
drew
the
bolts
from
his
house‐door
.
“
Take
heed
that
thou
dost
not
drive
her
away
,
Flamma
.
One
may
beat
a
saddled
mule
safely
,
but
hardly
so
a
wolf’s
cub
.
”
She
passed
out
of
the
door
as
she
spoke
with
mop
and
pail
to
wash
down
the
paved
court
outside
;
but
her
words
abode
with
her
master
.
He
meddled
no
more
with
the
wolf’s
club
.
When
Folle‐Farine
came
down
the
stairs
in
the
crisp
,
cool
,
sweet
smelling
spring
morning
that
was
breaking
through
the
mists
over
the
land
and
water
,
he
motioned
to
her
to
break
her
fast
with
the
cold
porridge
left
from
overnight
,
and
looking
at
her
from
under
his
bent
brows
with
a
glance
that
had
some
apprehension
underneath
its
anger
,
apportioned
her
a
task
for
the
early
day
with
a
few
bitter
words
of
command
;
but
he
molested
her
no
farther
,
nor
referred
ever
so
faintly
to
the
scene
of
the
past
night
.
She
ate
her
poor
and
tasteless
meal
in
silence
,
and
set
about
her
appointed
labour
without
protest
.
So
long
as
she
should
eat
his
bread
,
so
long
,
she
said
to
herself
,
would
she
serve
him
.
Thus
much
the
pride
and
honesty
of
her
nature
taught
her
was
his
due
.
He
watched
her
furtively
under
his
shaggy
eyebrows
.
His
instinct
told
him
that
this
nameless
,
dumb
,
captive
,
desert
animal
,
which
he
had
bound
as
a
beast
of
burden
to
his
millwheels
,
had
in
some
manner
learned
her
strength
,
and
would
not
long
remain
content
to
be
thus
yoked
and
driven
.
He
had
blinded
her
with
the
blindness
of
ignorance
,
and
goaded
her
with
the
good
of
ignominy
;
but
for
all
that
,
some
way
her
bandaged
eyes
had
sought
and
found
the
light
,
some
way
her
numbed
hide
had
thrilled
and
swerved
beneath
the
barb
.
“
She
also
is
a
saint
;
let
God
take
her
!
”
said
the
old
man
to
himself
in
savage
irony
,
as
he
toiled
amongst
his
mill
gear
and
his
sacks
.
His
heart
was
ever
sore
and
in
agony
because
his
God
had
cheated
him
,
letting
him
hold
as
purest
and
holiest
among
women
the
daughter
who
had
betrayed
him
.
In
his
way
he
prayed
still
;
but
chiefly
his
prayer
was
a
passionate
upbraiding
,
a
cynical
reproach
.
She
—
his
beloved
,
his
marvel
,
his
choicest
of
maidens
,
his
fairest
and
coldest
of
virgins
,
—
had
escaped
him
and
duped
him
,
and
been
a
thing
of
passion
and
of
foulness
,
of
treachery
and
of
lust
,
all
the
while
that
he
had
worshipped
her
.
Therefore
he
hated
every
breathing
thing
;
therefore
he
slew
the
birds
in
air
song
,
the
insects
in
their
summer
bravery
,
the
lamb
in
its
gambols
,
the
rabbit
in
its
play
amidst
the
primroses
.
Therefore
he
cried
to
the
God
whom
he
still
believed
in
,
“
Thou
lettest
that
which
was
pure
escape
me
to
be
defiled
and
be
slaughtered
,
and
now
Thou
lettest
that
which
is
vile
escape
me
to
become
beautiful
and
free
and
strong
!
”
And
now
and
then
,
in
this
woe
of
his
which
was
so
pitiful
and
yet
so
brutal
,
he
glanced
at
her
where
she
laboured
amongst
the
unbudded
vines
and
leafless
fruit
trees
,
and
whetted
a
sickle
on
the
whirling
grindstone
,
and
felt
its
edge
,
and
thought
to
himself
,
“
She
was
devil
begotten
.
Would
it
not
be
well
once
and
for
all
to
rid
men
of
her
?
”
For
,
he
reasoned
,
being
thus
conceived
in
infamy
and
branded
from
her
birth
upward
,
how
should
she
be
ever
otherwise
than
to
men
a
curse
?
Where
she
went
at
her
labours
,
to
and
fro
amongst
the
bushes
and
by
the
glancing
water
,
she
saw
the
steel
hook
and
caught
his
sideways
gaze
,
and
read
his
meditation
.
She
laughed
,
and
did
not
fear
.
Only
she
thought
,
“
He
shall
not
do
it
till
I
have
been
back
there
.
”
Before
the
day
was
done
,
thither
she
went
.
He
had
kept
her
close
since
the
sunrise
.
Not
sending
her
out
on
any
of
the
errands
to
and
fro
the
country
,
which
had
a
certain
pleasure
to
her
,
because
she
gained
by
them
liberty
and
air
,
and
the
contentment
of
swift
movement
against
fresh
blowing
winds
.
Nor
did
her
send
her
to
the
town
.
He
employed
her
through
ten
whole
hours
in
out‐door
garden
labour
,
and
in
fetching
and
carrying
from
his
yard
to
his
lofts
,
always
within
sight
of
his
own
quick
eye
,
and
within
call
of
his
harsh
voice
.
She
did
not
revolt
.
She
did
what
he
bade
her
do
swiftly
and
well
.
There
was
no
fault
to
find
in
any
of
her
labours
.
When
the
last
sack
was
carried
,
the
last
sod
turned
,
the
last
burden
borne
,
the
sun
was
sinking
,
he
bade
her
roughly
go
indoors
and
winnow
last
year’s
wheat
in
the
store
chambers
till
he
should
bid
her
cease
.
She
came
and
stood
before
him
,
her
eyes
very
quiet
in
their
look
of
patient
strength
.
“
I
have
worked
from
daybreak
through
to
sunset
,
”
she
said
,
slowly
to
him
.
“
It
is
enough
for
man
and
beast
.
The
rest
I
claim
.
”
Before
he
could
reply
she
had
leaped
the
low
stone
wall
that
parted
the
timber‐yard
from
the
orchard
,
and
was
out
of
sight
,
flying
far
and
fast
through
the
twilight
of
the
boughs
.
He
muttered
a
curse
,
and
let
her
go
.
His
head
drooped
on
his
breast
,
his
hands
worked
restlessly
on
the
stone
coping
of
the
wall
,
his
withered
lips
muttered
in
wrath
.
“
There
is
hell
in
her
,
”
he
said
to
himself
.
“
Let
her
go
to
her
rightful
home
.
There
is
one
thing
—
”
“
There
is
one
thing
?
”
echoed
the
old
woman
,
hanging
washed
linen
out
to
dry
on
the
boughs
of
the
half‐bloomed
almond‐shrubs
.
He
gave
a
dreary
,
greed
,
miser’s
chuckle
.
“
One
thing
.
I
have
made
the
devil
work
for
me
hard
and
well
ten
whole
years
through
!
”
“
The
devil
!
”
mumbled
the
woman
Pitchou
,
in
contemptuous
iteration
.
“
Dost
thou
think
the
devil
was
ever
such
a
fool
as
to
work
for
thy
wage
of
blows
and
of
black
bread
?
Why
,
he
rules
the
world
,
they
say
!
And
how
should
he
rule
unless
he
paid
his
people
well
!
”
Folle‐Farine
fled
on
,
through
the
calm
woodlands
,
through
the
pastures
where
the
sleek
herds
dreamed
their
days
away
,
through
the
young
wheat
and
the
springing
colza
,
and
the
little
fields
all
bright
with
promise
of
the
spring
,
and
all
the
sunset’s
wealth
of
golden
light
.
The
league
was
but
as
a
step
to
her
,
trained
as
her
muscles
were
to
speed
and
strength
until
her
feet
were
fleet
as
are
the
doe’s
.
When
she
had
gained
her
goal
then
only
she
paused
,
stricken
with
a
sudden
shyness
and
terror
of
what
she
hardly
knew
.
An
instinct
,
rather
than
a
thought
,
turned
her
towards
a
little
grass‐hidden
pool
behind
the
granary
,
whose
water
,
never
stirred
save
by
a
pigeon’s
rosy
foot
,
or
by
a
timid
plover’s
beak
,
was
motionless
and
clear
as
any
mirror
.
Instinct
,
rather
than
thought
,
bent
her
head
over
it
,
and
taught
her
eyes
to
seek
her
own
reflection
.
It
had
a
certain
beauty
that
fascinated
wonder
in
it
to
her
with
a
curious
indefinable
attraction
.
For
the
first
time
in
her
life
she
had
thought
of
it
,
and
done
such
slight
things
as
she
could
to
make
it
greater
.
They
were
but
few
,
—
linen
a
little
whiter
and
less
coarse
—
the
dust
shaken
from
her
scarlet
sash
;
her
bronze‐hued
hair
burnished
to
richer
darkness
;
a
knot
of
wild
narcissi
in
her
bosom
gathered
with
the
dew
on
them
as
she
came
through
the
wood
.
This
was
all
;
yet
this
was
something
;
something
that
showed
the
dawn
of
human
impulses
,
of
womanly
desires
.
As
she
looked
,
she
blushed
for
her
own
foolishness
;
and
,
with
a
quick
hand
,
cast
the
white
wood
flowers
into
the
centre
of
the
pool
.
It
seemed
to
her
now
,
though
only
a
moment
earlier
she
had
gathered
them
,
so
senseless
and
so
idle
to
have
decked
herself
with
their
borrowed
loveliness
.
As
if
for
such
things
as
these
he
cared
!
Then
,
slowly
,
and
with
her
head
sunk
,
she
entered
his
dwelling‐place
.
Arslàn
stood
with
his
face
turned
from
her
,
bending
down
over
a
trestle
of
wood
.
He
did
not
hear
her
as
she
approached
;
she
drew
quite
close
to
him
and
looked
where
she
saw
that
he
looked
;
down
on
the
wooden
bench
.
What
she
saw
were
a
long
falling
stream
of
light
hued
hair
,
a
grey
still
face
,
closed
eyes
,
and
naked
limbs
,
which
did
not
stir
save
when
his
hand
moved
them
a
little
in
their
posture
,
and
which
then
dropped
from
his
hold
like
lead
.
She
did
not
shudder
nor
exclaim
;
she
only
looked
with
quiet
and
incurious
eyes
.
In
this
life
of
the
poor
such
a
sight
has
neither
novelty
nor
terror
.
It
did
not
even
seem
strange
to
her
to
see
it
in
such
a
place
.
He
started
slightly
as
he
grew
sensible
of
her
presence
,
and
turned
,
and
threw
a
black
cloth
over
the
trestle
.
“
Do
not
look
there
,
”
he
said
to
her
.
“
I
had
forgotten
you
.
Otherwise
—
”
“
I
have
looked
there
.
It
is
only
a
dead
woman
.
”
“
Only
!
What
makes
you
say
that
?
”
“
I
do
not
know
.
There
are
many
—
are
there
not
?
”
He
looked
at
her
in
surprise
seeing
that
this
utter
lack
of
interest
or
curiosity
was
true
and
not
assumed
;
that
awe
,
and
reverence
,
and
dread
,
and
all
emotions
which
rise
in
human
hearts
before
the
sight
or
memory
of
death
were
wholly
absent
from
her
.
“
There
are
many
indeed
,
”
he
made
answer
,
slowly
.
“
Just
there
is
the
toughest
problem
—
it
is
the
insect
life
of
the
world
;
it
is
the
clouds
of
human
ephemeræ
,
begotten
one
summer
day
to
die
the
next
;
it
is
the
millions
on
millions
of
men
and
women
born
,
as
it
were
,
only
to
be
choked
by
the
reek
of
cities
,
and
then
fade
out
to
nothing
;
it
is
the
numbers
that
kill
one’s
dream
of
immortality
!
”
She
looked
wearily
up
at
him
,
not
comprehending
,
and
,
indeed
,
he
had
spoken
to
himself
and
not
to
her
;
she
lifted
up
one
corner
of
the
cere
cloth
and
gazed
a
little
while
at
the
dead
face
,
the
face
of
a
girl
young
,
and
in
a
slight
soft
youthful
manner
,
fair
.
“
It
is
Fortis
,
the
rag‐picker’s
daughter
,
”
she
said
,
indifferently
,
and
dropt
back
the
sheltering
cloth
.
She
did
not
know
what
nor
why
she
envied
,
and
yet
she
was
jealous
of
this
white
dead
thing
that
abode
there
so
peacefully
and
so
happily
with
the
caress
of
his
touch
on
its
calm
limbs
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
answered
her
.
“
It
is
his
daughter
.
She
died
twenty
hours
ago
,
—
of
low
fever
,
they
say
—
famine
,
no
doubt
.
”
“
Why
do
you
have
her
here
?
”
She
felt
no
sorrow
for
the
dead
girl
;
the
girl
had
mocked
and
jibed
her
many
a
time
as
a
dark
witch
devil‐born
;
she
only
felt
a
jealous
and
restless
hatred
of
her
intrusion
here
.
“
The
dead
sit
to
me
often
,
”
he
said
,
with
a
certain
smile
that
had
sadness
and
yet
coldness
in
it
.
“
Why
?
”
“
That
they
may
tell
me
the
secrets
of
life
.
”
“
Do
they
tell
them
?
”
“
A
few
;
—
most
they
keep
.
See
,
—
I
paint
death
;
I
must
watch
it
to
paint
it
.
It
is
dreary
work
,
you
think
?
It
is
not
so
to
me
.
The
surgeon
seeks
his
kind
of
truth
;
I
seek
mine
.
The
man
Fortis
came
to
me
on
the
river
side
last
night
.
He
said
to
me
,
‘You
like
studying
the
dead
,
they
say
;
have
my
dead
for
a
copper
coin
.
I
am
starving
;
—
and
it
cannot
hurt
her.’
So
I
gave
him
the
coin
—
though
I
am
as
poor
as
he
—
and
I
took
the
dead
woman
.
Why
do
you
look
like
that
?
It
is
nothing
to
you
;
the
girl
shall
go
to
her
grave
when
I
have
done
with
her
.
She
bent
her
head
in
assent
.
It
was
nothing
to
her
;
and
yet
it
filled
her
with
a
cruel
feverish
jealousy
,
it
weighed
on
her
with
a
curious
pain
.
She
did
not
care
for
the
body
lying
there
—
it
had
been
but
the
other
day
that
the
dead
girl
had
shot
her
lips
out
at
her
in
mockery
and
called
her
names
from
a
balcony
in
an
old
ruined
house
as
the
boat
drifted
past
it
;
—
but
there
passed
over
her
a
dreary
shuddering
remembrance
that
she
,
likewise
,
might
one
day
lie
thus
before
him
and
be
no
more
to
him
than
this
.
The
people
said
that
he
who
studied
death
,
brought
death
.
The
old
wistful
longing
that
had
moved
her
,
when
Marcellin
had
died
,
to
lay
her
down
in
the
cool
water
and
let
it
take
her
to
long
sleep
and
to
complete
forgetfulness
,
returned
to
her
again
.
Since
the
dead
were
of
value
to
him
,
best
,
she
thought
,
be
of
them
,
and
lie
here
in
that
dumb
still
serenity
,
caressed
by
his
touch
and
his
regard
.
For
,
in
a
manner
,
she
was
jealous
of
this
woman
,
as
of
some
living
rival
who
had
,
in
her
absence
,
filled
her
place
and
been
of
use
to
him
and
escaped
his
thought
.
Any
ghastliness
or
inhumanity
in
this
search
of
his
for
the
truth
of
his
art
amidst
the
frozen
limbs
and
rigid
muscles
of
a
corpse
,
never
occurred
to
her
.
To
her
he
was
like
a
deity
;
to
her
these
poor
weak
shreds
of
broken
human
lives
,
these
fragile
empty
vessels
,
whose
wine
of
life
had
been
spilled
like
water
that
runs
to
waste
,
seemed
beyond
measurement
to
be
exalted
when
deemed
by
him
of
value
.
She
would
have
thought
no
more
of
grudging
them
in
his
employ
and
in
his
service
than
priests
of
Isis
or
of
Eleusis
would
have
begrudged
the
sacrificed
lives
of
the
beasts
and
birds
that
smoked
upon
their
temple
altars
.
To
die
at
his
will
and
be
of
use
to
him
;
—
this
seemed
to
her
the
most
supreme
glory
fate
could
hold
;
and
she
envied
the
rag‐picker’s
daughter
lying
there
in
such
calm
content
.
“
Why
do
you
look
so
much
at
her
?
”
he
said
at
length
.
“
I
shall
do
her
no
harm
;
if
I
did
,
what
would
she
know
?
”
“
I
was
not
thinking
of
her
,
”
she
answered
slowly
,
with
a
certain
perplexed
pain
upon
her
face
.
“
I
was
thinking
I
might
be
of
more
use
to
you
if
I
were
dead
!
You
must
not
kill
me
,
because
men
would
hurt
you
for
that
;
but
if
you
wish
,
I
will
kill
myself
to‐night
.
I
have
often
thought
of
it
lately
.
”
He
started
at
the
strangeness
and
suddenness
of
the
words
spoken
steadily
and
with
perfect
sincerity
and
simplicity
in
the
dialect
of
the
district
,
with
no
sense
in
their
speaker
of
anything
unusual
being
offered
in
them
.
His
eyes
tried
to
search
the
expression
of
her
face
with
greater
interest
and
curiosity
than
they
had
ever
done
;
and
they
gained
from
their
study
but
little
.
For
the
innumerable
emotions
awakening
in
her
were
only
dimly
shadowed
there
,
and
had
in
them
the
confusion
of
all
imperfect
expressions
.
He
could
not
tell
whether
here
there
was
a
great
soul
struggling
through
the
bonds
of
an
intense
ignorance
and
stupefaction
,
or
whether
there
were
only
before
him
an
animal
perfect
,
in
its
physical
development
,
but
mindless
as
any
clod
of
earth
.
He
did
not
know
how
to
answer
her
.
“
Why
should
you
think
of
death
?
”
he
said
at
last
.
“
Is
your
life
so
bitter
to
you
?
”
She
stared
at
him
.
“
Is
a
beaten
dog’s
bitter
?
Or
is
a
goaded
ox’s
sweet
?
”
“
But
you
are
so
young
,
—
and
you
are
handsome
,
and
a
woman
?
”
She
laughed
a
little
.
“
A
woman
!
Marcellin
said
that
.
”
“
Well
!
What
is
there
strange
in
saying
it
?
”
She
pointed
to
the
corpse
which
the
last
sun‐rays
were
brightening
,
till
the
limbs
were
as
alabaster
and
the
hair
was
as
gold
.
“
That
was
a
woman
—
a
creature
that
is
white
and
rose
,
and
has
yellow
hair
and
laughs
in
the
faces
of
men
,
and
has
a
mother
that
kisses
her
lips
,
and
sees
the
children
come
to
play
at
her
knees
.
I
am
not
one
.
I
am
a
devil
,
they
say
.
”
His
mouth
smiled
with
a
touch
of
sardonic
humour
,
whose
acrimony
and
whose
irony
escaped
her
.
“
What
have
you
done
so
good
,
or
so
great
,
that
your
world
should
call
you
so
?
”
Her
eyes
clouded
and
lightened
alternately
.
“
You
do
not
believe
that
I
am
a
devil
?
”
“
How
should
I
tell
?
If
you
covet
the
title
claim
it
,
—
you
have
a
right
,
—
you
are
a
woman
!
”
“
Always
a
woman
!
”
she
muttered
with
disappointment
and
with
impatience
.
“
Always
a
woman
,
”
he
echoed
as
he
pointed
to
the
god
Hermes
.
“
And
there
is
your
creator
.
”
“
He
!
”
She
looked
rapidly
and
wistfully
at
the
white‐winged
god
.
“
Yes
.
He
made
Woman
;
for
he
made
her
mind
out
of
treachery
and
her
words
out
of
empty
wind
.
Hephæstus
made
her
heart
,
fusing
for
it
brass
and
iron
.
Their
work
has
worn
well
.
It
has
not
changed
in
all
these
ages
!
—
But
what
is
your
history
?
Go
and
lie
yonder
,
where
you
were
last
night
,
and
tell
me
your
story
while
I
work
.
”
She
obeyed
him
and
told
him
what
she
knew
;
lying
there
,
where
he
had
motioned
her
,
in
the
shadow
under
the
figures
of
the
three
grandsons
of
Chaos
.
He
listened
,
and
wrought
on
at
her
likeness
.
The
story
,
as
she
told
it
in
her
curt
imperfect
words
,
was
plain
enough
to
him
,
though
to
herself
obscure
.
It
had
in
some
little
measure
a
likeness
to
his
own
.
It
awakened
a
certain
compassion
for
her
in
his
heart
,
which
was
rarely
moved
to
anything
like
pity
.
For
to
him
nature
was
so
much
and
man
so
little
,
the
one
so
majestic
and
so
exhaustless
,
the
other
so
small
and
so
ephemeral
,
that
human
wants
and
human
woes
touched
him
but
very
slightly
.
His
own
,
even
at
their
darkest
,
moved
him
rather
to
self‐contempt
than
to
self‐compassion
,
for
these
were
evils
of
the
body
and
of
the
senses
.
As
a
boy
he
had
had
no
ear
to
the
wail
of
the
frozen
and
famishing
people
wandering
homeless
over
the
waste
of
drifted
snow
,
where
but
the
night
before
a
village
had
nestled
in
the
mountain
hollow
;
all
his
senses
had
been
given
in
a
trance
of
awe
and
rapture
to
the
voices
of
the
great
winds
sweeping
down
from
the
heights
through
the
pine‐forests
,
and
of
the
furious
seas
below
,
gnashing
and
raging
on
the
wreck‐strewn
sand
.
It
was
with
these
last
that
he
had
had
kinship
and
communion
,
these
endured
always
;
but
for
the
men
they
slew
,
what
were
they
more
in
the
great
sum
of
time
than
forest‐leaves
or
ocean
driftwood
?
And
,
indeed
,
to
those
who
are
alive
to
the
nameless
,
universal
,
eternal
soul
which
breathes
in
all
the
grasses
of
the
fields
,
and
beams
in
the
eyes
of
all
creatures
of
earth
and
air
,
and
throbs
in
the
living
light
of
palpitating
stars
,
and
thrills
through
the
young
sap
of
forest
trees
,
and
stirs
in
the
strange
loves
of
wind‐borne
plants
,
and
hums
in
every
song
of
the
bee
,
and
burns
in
every
quiver
of
the
flame
,
and
peoples
with
sentient
myriads
every
drop
of
dew
that
gathers
on
a
hare‐bell
,
every
bead
of
water
that
ripples
in
a
brook
—
to
these
the
mortal
life
of
man
can
seem
but
little
,
save
at
once
the
fiercest
and
the
feeblest
thing
that
does
exist
;
at
once
the
most
cruel
and
the
most
impotent
;
tyrant
of
direst
destruction
and
bondsman
of
lowest
captivity
.
Hence
,
pity
entered
very
little
into
his
thoughts
at
any
time
;
the
perpetual
tortures
of
life
did
indeed
perplex
him
,
as
it
perplexes
every
thinking
creature
,
with
wonder
at
the
universal
bitterness
that
taints
all
creation
,
at
the
universal
death
whereby
all
forms
of
life
are
nurtured
,
at
the
universal
anguish
of
all
existence
which
daily
and
nightly
assails
the
unknown
God
in
piteous
protest
at
the
inexorable
laws
of
inexplicable
miseries
and
mysteries
.
But
because
such
suffering
was
thus
universal
,
therefore
he
almost
ceased
to
feel
pity
for
it
;
of
the
two
he
pitied
the
beasts
far
more
than
the
human
kind
:
—
the
horse
staggering
beneath
the
lash
in
all
the
feebleness
of
hunger
,
lameness
,
and
old
age
;
the
ox
bleeding
from
the
goad
on
the
hard
furrows
,
or
stumbling
through
the
hooting
crowd
,
blind
,
footsore
,
and
shivering
,
to
its
last
home
in
the
slaughter‐house
;
the
dog
,
yielding
up
its
noble
life
inch
by
inch
under
the
tortures
of
the
knife
,
loyally
licking
the
hand
of
the
vivisector
while
he
drove
his
probe
through
its
quivering
nerves
;
the
unutterable
hell
in
which
all
these
gentle
,
kindly
and
long‐suffering
creatures
dwelt
for
the
pleasure
or
the
vanity
,
the
avarice
or
the
brutality
of
men
,
—
these
he
pitied
perpetually
,
with
a
tenderness
for
them
that
was
the
softest
thing
in
all
his
nature
.
But
when
he
saw
men
and
women
suffer
he
often
smiled
,
not
ill
pleased
.
It
seemed
to
him
that
the
worst
they
could
ever
endure
was
only
such
simple
retribution
,
such
mere
fair
measure
of
all
the
agonies
they
cast
broadcast
.
Therefore
he
pitied
her
now
for
what
repulsed
all
others
from
her
—
that
she
had
so
little
apparent
humanity
,
and
that
she
was
so
like
an
animal
in
her
strength
and
weakness
,
and
in
her
ignorance
of
both
her
rights
and
wrongs
.
Therefore
he
pitied
her
;
and
there
was
that
in
her
strange
kind
of
beauty
,
in
her
half‐savage
,
half‐timid
attitudes
,
in
her
curt
,
unlearned
,
yet
picturesque
speech
,
which
attracted
him
.
Besides
,
although
solitude
was
his
preference
,
he
had
been
for
more
than
two
years
utterly
alone
,
his
loneliness
broken
only
by
the
companionship
of
boors
,
with
whom
he
had
not
had
one
thought
in
common
.
The
extreme
poverty
in
which
the
latter
months
of
his
life
had
been
passed
,
had
excluded
him
from
all
human
society
,
since
he
could
have
sought
none
without
betraying
his
necessities
.
The
alms‐seeking
visit
of
some
man
even
more
famished
and
desperate
than
himself
,
such
as
the
rag‐picker
who
had
brought
the
dead
girl
to
him
for
a
few
brass
coins
,
had
been
the
only
relief
to
the
endless
monotony
of
his
existence
,
a
relief
that
made
such
change
in
it
worse
than
its
continuance
.
In
Folle‐Farine
for
the
first
time
in
two
long
,
bitter
,
colourless
,
hated
years
,
there
was
something
which
aroused
his
interest
and
his
curiosity
,
some
one
to
whom
impulse
led
him
to
speak
the
thoughts
of
his
mind
with
little
concealment
.
She
seemed
,
indeed
,
scarcely
more
than
a
wild
beast
,
half‐tamed
,
inarticulate
,
defiant
,
shy
,
it
might
be
even
,
if
aroused
,
ferocious
;
but
it
was
an
animal
whose
eyes
dilated
in
quickening
sympathy
with
all
his
moods
,
and
an
animal
whom
,
at
a
glance
,
he
knew
would
,
in
time
,
crawl
to
him
or
combat
for
him
as
he
chose
.
He
talked
to
her
now
,
much
on
the
same
impulse
that
moves
a
man
,
long
imprisoned
,
to
converse
with
the
spider
that
creeps
on
the
floor
,
with
the
mouse
that
drinks
from
his
pitcher
,
and
makes
him
treat
like
an
intelligent
being
the
tiny
flower
growing
blue
and
bright
between
the
stones
,
which
is
all
that
brings
life
into
his
loneliness
.
