"’Tis but the passing whim of a foolish maid," he said lightly, "and one not to be regarded seriously, my son; yet ’tis wisest to yield in outward seeming, for, did I oppose her will, the little Gwennola would sigh and weep as any love-lorn maiden of romance, such as our minstrels picture wherewith to turn the heads of other silly maids; but if she have her way, she will soon forget a stranger when another noble lover comes a-wooing. Nay, nay, the child is too true a Mereac to long love a French lover; another shall soon steal the fancy from her heart and leave a truer one in its place. Alain de Plöernic seeks a bride, and where shall he find a fairer or a sweeter than the demoiselle of Mereac?" So the old father built his schemes, all unwitting of his daughter’s mind, dreaming; that maids, forsooth! must needs be all of one pattern, and ready enough to change lovers at a father’s command, or because, perchance, the name of one sounded ill in a father’s ear, little recking that here was a slip from his own stern, iron-willed stock, which, having found its mate, responded not to the call of any other, even at the command of a parent, however beloved. So on the terrace walk the lovers, so ill assorted, yet so faithful, pledged undying constancy and truth, and in the hall of the château the Sieur de Mereac smiled at his new-found serpent’s wisdom, then altogether dismissed from his mind the ill thought of Gwennola’s unwelcome lover, to turn instead to think of the man to whom he had pledged his daughter’s troth, and to swear vengeance on the subtle brain which had so nearly wrought the undoing of his house. Even in his racial hatred he could not but admit that Henri d’Estrailles claimed his gratitude in striving, even though vainly, against the coward hand which had struck the traitor’s blow on his Yvon. And so, from thoughts of that scene in the wood of St Aubin, once more the old man’s wandering reflections went back with a shuddering fury to the tale which Yvon himself had so haltingly told them as he stood there in the dim hall, with his father and sister beside him, his hands—such thin, trembling hands!—locked in theirs as he spoke.