"La Goualeuse, come; I want to talk to you," said La Louve, in a sullen manner; and leaving the other prisoners, she led Fleur-de-Marie near to the basin which was in the center of the court. La Louve and her companion seated themselves, isolated from the rest of their companions. The winter's sun shed its pale rays upon them, the blue sky was partially obscured by white and fleecy clouds; some birds, deceived by the mildness of the atmosphere, were warbling in the black branches of the large chestnut-trees in the court; two or three sparrows, bolder than the rest, came to drink and to bathe in a little brook which flowed from the fountain; the stone margin was covered with green moss, and here and there from the interstices rose some tufts of green herbs, which the frost had spared. This description of the prison basin may seem trifling, but Fleur-de-Marie lost not one of these details; with her eyes fixed sadly on the clouds as they broke the azure of the sky, or reflected the golden rays of the sun, she thought, with a sigh, of the magnificence of nature, which she much loved, admired poetically, and of which she was deprived. "What do you wish to say to me?" asked La Goualeuse of her companion, who, seated alongside of her, remained somber and silent. "It is necessary that we have a settlement," cried La Louve, harshly, "this can't go on." "I don't understand you, La Louve." "Just now, in the court, I said to myself, 'I will not yield to La Goualeuse,' and yet I have again given way to you." "But--" "I tell you this can't last so." "What have you against me, La Louve?" "Why, I am no longer the same since your arrival; no, I have no more courage, strength, or hardihood." Interrupting herself, she pushed up the sleeve of her dress and showed to La Goualeuse her strong white arm, pointing out to her, pricked in with indelible ink, a poniard half plunged in a red heart; over this emblem were these words: "Death to Dastards! MARTIAL. For life!" "Do you see that?" cried La Louve. "Yes; it makes me afraid," said La Goualeuse, turning away her head. "When Martial, my lover, wrote this with a red-hot needle, he thought me brave; if he knew my conduct for three days past, he would drive his knife in my body, as this poniard is planted in this heart; and he would be right, for be has written there '_Death to Dastards_' and I am one." "What have you done cowardly?" "Everything." "Do you regret what you have done just now?" "Yes!" "I do not believe you." "I tell you that I regret it, for it is another proof of the power you have over us all. Did you not hear what Mont Saint Jean said when she was on her knees to thank you?" "What did she say?" "She said, in speaking of us, that with nothing you turn us from evil to good. I could have strangled her when she said that, for, to our shame, it is true. Yes, in a moment you change us from black to white: we listen to you, we give way to our impulses, and we are your dupes."