_"Ainsi le bon temps regretons Entre nous, pauvres vielles sotes, Assises bas, a crouppetons, Tout en ung tas commes pelotes_, _A petit feu de chenevotes Tost allumees, tost estaintes: Et jadis fusmes si mignotes!... Ainsi emprent a maintes et maintes._ "Do you understand, Shane, do you understand? So we regret the good old times, poor old light women, gathered together like fagots, and hunkering over a straw fire, soon lit, soon out--_tost allumees, tost estaintes_ ... and once we were so dainty. To many and many's the one it happens. _Pauvres vielles sotes!_ Poor old light women, Shane.... _Et jadis fusmes si mignotes!_ ... Dainty as I am, they were once.... And do you blame them now when see it coming ... the drink, the ether ... the abominable things...." "O my God! Claire-Anne!" "Heart of hearts, Shane. I once escaped to light, where they escape to oblivion.... Once I had you, and all my life I'll remember it.... All my life I'll remember: I once knew a man.... And it will be a help, so much a help...." "Oh, Claire-Anne, it can't be!" "It must be, dearest heart. It is--decreed. Darling, sometimes I thought--Do you remember your showing me the poor prince's dagger, and our talking about him--setting himself free--and I said I thought I could understand why he did not.... I've wanted to, myself.... But.... There's a way you're brought up, when you're young.... They put such fear of God in you ... such fear of hell ... you never could--throw things down and go straight to Him, and say: 'I couldn't. I just simply couldn't. I hadn't the strength. I couldn't ... just....' And they never think of Him saying: 'Of course you couldn't.... And it was all My fault. I wasn't looking.... I've so much to think of.... You did right to come to Me....' But, no! no! One fears. They teach you so much fear, Shane, when you are young ... so that even this is better--this--game, where none win.... And so--one goes on...." She rose suddenly and clutched his shoulders in panic. Her mouth twisted in piteous agony.... "Oh, but dearest, dearest, _pauvres vielles sotes_, poor old light women.... Shane, _assises bas, a crouppetons_, in an archway, hoping for a drunken farmer with a couple of sous ... and so cold, so cold, with a little fire of straw stalks ... _tost allumees, tost estaintes!_" ... "No, Claire-Anne! no!" "A drunken farmer, or traveling pedler.... _Et jadis fusmes si mignotes_ ... and so dainty once!" "No!" His voice took the ring of decision. She didn't hear him. Her voice broke into a torrent of sobs. "Take me in your arms, Shane, once more. And let my heart come into your heart, where it's so warm ... and I'll have something to remember in the days when it will be ... so cold, so cold ... and I'll be there warming old bones.... _A petit feu de chenevotes_.... Shane, dearest, please...."