“Did you ever note the asses that come for the sand which is taken out of the pits?” she said curtly. “They are put to their work when they are foals. They never reach their full growth. Their eyes are always sore. Their coats are always full of dust. No one ever cleans them. Their hoofs are dry and split. Their bones are through their skin. They get nothing to eat but mouldy straw and dead leaves. They are beasts of burden, fed on blows. They have never a minute’s peace. The women of the poor are like them. They bring forth in hunger and pain, and what they bring forth is born to their burdens. That is why I will never marry, if that be what you mean.” He was astonished at the reflection and observation conveyed in the reply. It was like a miracle to hear any one of these people speak with compassion of an animal, and with any comparison of animal to human destinies. He was surprised also at the directness of the answer, for a direct answer is seldom given in these lands. He pointed to a speck of gold shining far away in the west. “Yonder, where you see that spark of light, lies Rome. There, more than one man who was born of a peasant mother has sat enthroned as a viceregent of God, and emperors and kings have kneeled to kiss his foot. What woman can say what she may bring forth? Who can tell what the fruit of her body may be?” She looked where he pointed, but she did not understand. Of Rome she had heard, but she had no notion of it, other than as a place whither the _vetturini_ went as the end of their journeys. The way is long and the gulf is deep which divides the cultured from the ignorant mind. Each speaks to the other in an unknown tongue. He knew that she had not grasped the vague consolation offered in his words. Silence fell between them, only filled by the sound of her rusty sickle hacking at the dry canes. “Why do you stay here?” she said suddenly. “Why? It is not your country?” “It is not; no.” “Have you no friends?” “Yes, many; but not here.” “You should go to them.” “Would that I could!” “Why cannot you?” He was silent. How could he make her understand his position? Still kneeling on the ground with her billhook hacking the canes, she looked up at him with sudden sympathy. “You killed someone?” she said in a whisper. That was the cause which made men fugitives here in Le Selve. “No,” said Cyrille; “I did worse--I tried to teach men, and they would not be taught. My rulers thought it a crime. They put me in prison. I escaped. I am here.” Muriella was silent, resting the billhook on the ground. “You try to teach men here,” she said after a while; “they will not put you in any prison, but they will put you in your grave. They are all against you. They are not worth teaching. You will not alter them if you try till your hair is white.” “I wish to do my duty to my employers and to their people.”