"Am not I a friend? Nay, more--I am a relation," began Roussilac; but she checked him with the reproof: "I have no family now that Jean-Marie is dead." "Your mother," he reminded her. "She has delivered me into the power of the Church." "Because it is best for you. I would care for your body, Madeleine, as your mother cares for your soul. Cousin, think not unkindly of me. I would release you; but what power have I to remove the judgment of the Abbé Laroche? He has sentenced you to close confinement, until----" "My lover returns to release me," she finished, and backed from him with a laugh. Roussilac clenched his fingers tightly, and jealousy venomed the words which then left his lips: "Foolish girl, would you rouse all the evil in me? Bear with me, cousin," he went on quickly. "It is not in me to endure patiently. Since that day when I stood before you in the grove I have not known the meaning of peace. My nights have been long, my days dark, my position unprofitable----" Again she interrupted him, to simplify what she knew must follow: "Because you think that you love me." He stepped forward to seize her hands; but she drew back and steadied herself against the wall. "I do love you, sweet cousin." "You do not love me. Need I give you the lie when your own tongue gives it you? Is it love when the nights become long, and the day dark, and position brings no pleasure? Arnaud, I love, and am held in prison; but my nights are short, my days warm, and my position is a happiness. Believe you that love, however unrequited, takes away from life? I tell you it adds, it enriches, it beautifies. It is a crown which makes a humble man a king, and the halo which makes the singing-girl a saint. Love gives a man strength to use his power, to defy superstition and false religion, to snap his fingers in the face of a fat priest who believes that a strong will may be bent and broken by holding the body in bondage. Had I my heart to offer I would scorn your cowardly love." He had faced her while she spoke, but when she stopped he turned, and, feeling the sting of her eyes, savagely pulled at the cloak which had drifted from his shoulders. "My mother has sent you," said Madeleine. "She and I are bitter enemies," came the sullen answer. "I have but borne with her for your sake. She seeks to stir up mischief all the day long." He turned abruptly. "Have you no kind word for me, little cousin?" He looked worn and old, and the girl pitied him; but she was too honest to deceive by fair speech. "You brought me to this place against my will," she reminded him. "I was happy in our cabin beyond the river. You have played into the hands of my mother, who desires to see me punished because I have abjured her faith. Would you have brought me here had you found the plain country maid you had looked to see?" "I swore to your brother to protect you."