But no, ah no, m’sieu’, not as you think, not quite. Wild, with the bit in his teeth, yes; but at heart—well, here was the one woman for him. He knew it all in a minute, and he would have her once and for all, and till death should come their way. And so he said to her, as he raised her, she drawing back afraid, her heart hungering for him, yet fear in her eyes, and her fingers trembling as she softly pushed him from her. You see, she did not know quite what was in his heart. She was the daughter of a tenant vassal, who had lived in the family of a grand seigneur in her youth, the friend of his child—that was all, and that was where she got her manners and her mind.
"She got on her feet and said: ‘M’sieu’ le Baron, you will let me go—to my husband. I cannot stay here. Oh, you are great, you are noble, you would not make me sorry, make me to hate myself—and you. I have only one thing in the world of any price—you would not steal my happiness?’ He looked at her steadily in the eyes, and said: ‘Will it make you happy to go to Garoche?’ She raised her hands and wrung them. ‘God knows, God knows, I am his wife,’ she said helplessly, ‘and he loves me.’ ‘And God knows, God knows,’ said the Baron, ‘it is all a question of whether one shall feed and two go hungry, or two gather and one have the stubble. Shall not he stand in the stubble? What has he done to merit you? What would he do? You are for the master, not the man; for love, not the feeding on; for the Manor House and the hunt, not the cottage and the loom.’
"She broke into tears, her heart thumping in her throat. ‘I am for what the Church did for me this day,’ she said. ‘Oh, sir, I pray you, forgive me and let me go. Do not punish me, but forgive me—and let me
