“Where is he?” she asked. “Down yonder—in the priest’s house.” “Wounded?” “He killed Gaillard, heart of mine, and Gaillard was a good man at his weapons.” Her vagueness did not work as a lure. Denise did not swoop to it; so Marpasse told the truth. “There is nothing to fear. Messire Aymery was not born to die a bachelor.” “Does he know that I am here?” “How should he, heart of mine, when I left him asleep—tired out, and came up here at a venture.” Denise fell again into a long silence. There was something in the poise of her head—and in the way she sat motionless in the long grass that betrayed troubled thoughts and deep self-questioning. Denise had the mirror of her life before her, and found it full of shadows, and of reflections that she could not smother. “Marpasse.” “Heart of mine.” “He must never see me again; no—I could not bear it.” “God help us now! Why, it is the month of May—and the sun is shining——” “It is the truth, Marpasse. How can I—I——? Look; it all happened here! How can I put that out of my heart?” Marpasse stretched out a hand and touched her. “Come, come, look at the sun, not at the shadows.” “It is not in me—to forget everything.” “Even that the man loves you?” Denise turned on her suddenly with eyes full of a fierce light. “Yes, and should I take his love, I—who cannot go to him as a woman should! It is not in my heart, Marpasse, whatever you may say. God help me, but I love him better than that!” Her passion spent itself, and she lay down in the grass, covering her face, and trying to hide a rush of tears. Marpasse bent over her, moved by great pity, and yet impatient with Denise for pulling so simple a thread into a tangle. But Denise would not listen to Marpasse. She was even angry with her own tears. “No, no—let me be; I am a fool; it will soon pass.” Marpasse grimaced. “Why will you walk on thorns?” she said; “some people can never satisfy their consciences!” Denise still hid her face in the long grass. “It is for Aymery’s sake.” “Bah!” quoth Marpasse; “you will give him a stone, will you—when he is hungry.” She got up from under the rose tree, and went towards the gate. “I have left you the bread,” she said, “and it is better to eat bread and be contented than to look for rents in one’s own soul. Messire Aymery shall not know that you are here, if you will promise me one thing.” Denise raised herself upon her elbow. “Stay here till to-morrow. I will put it all before Father Grimbald. He is a man with a head and a heart. For the rest, my dear, put that bread into your body and sleep ten hours by the sun.” CHAPTER XLIII