Kitabı oku: «Vayenne», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XIII
OBEDIENCE AND TRUST
Some two hours ago the porter had opened the small door in the high wall, and before he could prevent her, or ask her business, a woman, heavily cloaked, had stepped hastily in, and bade him close the door again. He obeyed her command almost unconsciously, and then recovered himself sufficiently to ask the meaning of this sudden intrusion.
The woman laughed as she let the cloak, which she had held lightly across her, fall apart.
"Your wits move slowly, my friend. An enemy might enter while you were making up your mind to ask his business. Go and tell your mistress that Mademoiselle de Liancourt would speak with her."
Countess Elisabeth met her with a smiling welcome and outstretched arms, yet Lucille, who was with her when the message was brought, had seen an expression in her face which was certainly not one of pleasure, and was surprised at the sudden change as the door opened and Christine entered.
"Forgive me coming to you in this fashion, Elisabeth," Christine said. "I knew I should find a safe retreat here."
"Retreat?"
"Yes, or hiding-place if you will, for that is the true meaning of my coming. I would not have it known that I am in Vayenne for a while."
"Take the cloak, Lucille," said the Countess, lifting it from Christine's shoulders.
"Thank you; and Lucille, although it is a well-worn one, see that it is not thrown away, for it is borrowed," laughed Christine; and then when the girl had gone she went on. "I am travel-stained altogether, Elisabeth, and look strangely out of keeping with the comfort of this room. You will give me food presently, and perhaps lend me a gown; we are sufficiently of a size for that, I think. I have not had my clothes off for three nights."
"I do not understand," said Elisabeth.
"How should you? But you know that I went to Passey?"
"I have heard of that disaster and the death of the Duke," said Elisabeth.
"All Vayenne has heard of that, I suppose," said Christine.
"Such ill news travels quickly," was the answer; "if it is ill news altogether. Perhaps for the country's sake the death is not such an unfortunate one."
"You did not know Maurice," said Christine quietly.
"You must not be angry with me," the Countess went on. "I am thinking of the country, not of the individual, and I am sorry for the poor boy. But I do not understand why you should want to be in Vayenne secretly."
"A duke is not murdered without some upheaval in the state," said Christine. "The Duke's partisans may be the next victims."
"Is your life in jeopardy, Christine?"
"For three days I have been hiding in a charcoal-burner's hut. I should hardly have done so without good reason. Captain Lemasle saved me when we were attacked in the woods, and only to-night have I ventured to the city. I came by the North Gate, since it was nearest to your house, entering in the company of some market women, borrowing one of their cloaks to conceal myself as much as possible. How Captain Lemasle has fared, I know not. Let me see him if he comes, Elisabeth. He knows where I was bent on seeking sanctuary."
"But Felix – "
"I know. He will be Duke," said Christine, interrupting her.
"And powerful to shield you," said Elisabeth.
"He sent an escort to shield Maurice. It failed miserably in its purpose. Maybe Felix thinks, as you do, that Maurice's death happened fortunately for Montvilliers."
"Even then, I do not understand your position, Christine. Is not Felix to know that you are in Vayenne?"
"Not yet. He will know presently. As you love me, Elisabeth, let my being here remain a secret at present."
"But why?"
"Have you never heard that Felix wishes to marry me?" Christine asked.
"Yes; I have heard so. I know nothing of the truth of the story," said the Countess.
"It is true enough. Oh, there is no romance in it, Elisabeth. I have some power and wealth in the state. It might be a good marriage for Felix. There you have the whole truth of it."
"And you do not love him?"
"I do not think so. How can I tell? I have lived all these years on the earth without knowing what love is. Love, perhaps, finds no easy road into the Castle of Vayenne."
"Still, without love, you would marry him?" said the Countess.
"For the good of the country, perhaps; but if I do, he will probably live to wish that he had found another wife, even if she cost him a crown."
"Surely, Christine, if you have not learnt to love, you have learnt how to hate."
"Time enough for that when Felix and I are married. Will you keep me here for a while, and let it be a secret?"
"Yes; I promise. I will, even at the risk of Felix's anger. Am I not brave?" And she laughed lightheartedly.
"Then come and pick me out a gown, the prettiest you have, Elisabeth. I long to shake off the charcoal dust and the dirt of the highway. I want to feel just a woman, and look pretty again."
"Surely this Captain Lemasle – Did you not say he might come to-night?" said the Countess.
Christine laughed.
"This old house gives you romantic notions, my dear. Let us call Lucille, and bid her help to choose the gown, for with such ideas in your head you may be jealous of me, and foist upon me some cast-off garment that no girl could possibly look charming in. You are so pretty yourself, Elisabeth, that I am inclined not to trust you in this affair." And with their arms about each other, they went out of the room, calling for Lucille.
Captain Lemasle did not come, and only the porter heard any disturbance in the square. It woke him from a doze, but not sufficiently to send him out to see what the cause of the noise might be. He was a sleepy old man at the best of times, and if there were any breaking of heads being done, he argued that he was safer in his little lodge on the inside of the wall.
They talked no more of politics that night. For one thing, Lucille was present, and this was a relief, for both Christine and the Countess were busy with their own thoughts. Countess Elisabeth had told Felix that they had come to the parting of the ways. She loved him, of that she made no secret, but she had been unselfish enough to urge his marriage with Christine. His good came before her desire. With the death of Maurice, it seemed to her that all reason why Felix should marry Christine vanished; and since circumstances had thus been kind to her, she looked for the reward of her great unselfishness. When Felix had come to her the other day, she had fully expected him to rejoice that all barriers between them were now cast down. He had not done so; he still saw a necessity for marrying Christine; and although too proud to question him closely, she had made him understand that for the future things must be different between them. Perhaps she understood his character more thoroughly, at this moment, than she had ever done; but she loved him. Hers was not that love which lies close to the borderland of hatred; wounded, it yet found excuses for him. To-night she had learned something of Christine's feelings toward him. She might marry him, but time could never bring love into that union. Christine had declared that it would bring hatred. Felix must be saved from this, and the Countess tried to persuade herself that she thought only of him in this matter. She would keep Christine's secret. Felix should not know that she was in Vayenne; more, if necessary, she would keep Christine a prisoner for a time, so that Felix might understand how easily he could do without her, that he was free to marry where he would. This Lemasle was Christine's lover, surely, since she had not denied it. Elisabeth might presently betray this secret to Felix. "Yes, I may do that," she said as she came to this climax of her thoughts in her room that night, and the expression on the fair face which her mirror reflected almost startled her. For an instant she saw deeper into her own soul than she dared to look as a rule. She was frightened, but not repentant.
And Christine had been silent that evening, too. She knew nothing of Felix's visits to the Place Beauvoisin. She knew that he did not really love her; she believed that he did not love any woman. She had come to Countess Elisabeth for refuge and with the intention of telling her the whole truth of the attack in the forest; but Elisabeth's evident partisanship of Felix had stopped the tale. Christine had to give some other reason for her desire to remain concealed. The fact that Felix wished to make her his wife, and her reluctance to such a union, seemed a reason that would be most likely to appeal to another woman, and the introduction of Lemasle's name added force to the argument; so Christine laughed and spoke no words of denial. But there was little laughter in her heart as she locked herself in her room. Lemasle had not come. He had said he would, and she knew him well enough to understand that he was unable to keep his promise. He had not succeeded in entering Vayenne without being seen, and she dreaded to think what his fate might be, once he fell into the hands of Felix. There was something strange about Elisabeth. Her welcome had been forced. She had been under some restraint all the evening. It was doubtful if this house was a safe refuge after all. What had Roger Herrick done? How had he fared? Brave man as he was, what could he hope to accomplish against Felix? Herrick and Lemasle might both be taken, and they would both die a speedy death. Felix could not afford to let such men live, for they knew the truth.
"God grant he does not silence me before I have called him traitor!" she cried passionately; and then her mood changed suddenly, and a soft look came into her eyes. "I was wrong to let him ride back to Vayenne," she murmured; and for a little while she sat thinking, her mental vision reaching far beyond the four walls of her chamber, seeing the rough hut, the smouldering peat fire, and a man kneeling to her, swearing to serve her to the death.
Suddenly she shook herself free of such dreams. This was no time for visions. Even now Felix might be planning the death of this man – and of Lemasle. They must be saved. She would go to the castle to-night. The room seemed to have grown hot and stifling, and she threw open the window to fill her lungs with the cool night air.
Below her, the garden was in darkness. The night was overcast, but the trees were whispering together, and from the distance came the faint music of the carillon.
"I will go," she said, turning quickly from the window. "In some dungeon that music may penetrate to him as he counts the hours to dawn – and death. Felix shall listen to me."
The borrowed cloak was lying on a chair. She hastily wrapped it round her, and her hand was upon the key in the door when she stopped and turned round sharply.
"Mademoiselle!"
There was a face at the open window, a shaggy head that might well startle any woman, and two knotted hands grasped the window-frame, the muscles straining as the man drew himself slowly in.
"Pardon, mademoiselle. I have waited a long time. I knew no other way to get to you."
"Jean!"
"At your service, mademoiselle," said the dwarf as he got into the room and fell on his knee before her, a strangely grotesque figure, yet surely an honest man.
"What do you want with me?" Christine asked.
"I have a message from friend Roger. You are to remain in hiding until he sends to you again. Count Felix must believe that Duke Maurice is dead. Since leaving you in the forest, friend Roger has learnt strange things."
"What has he learnt?"
"That Count Felix will never be Duke of Montvilliers," Jean answered.
"But tell me why? What makes him say this? Come, Jean, tell me quickly. I have no wit to-night to think of questions to drag out your story."
"There is no story to be dragged out, mademoiselle. That is all the message, all I have to tell."
"I must know more," said Christine.
"I know no more," the dwarf answered. "Friend Roger was mysterious. He would tell me more presently, he said, but to-night there was work to do; and I have done it, although 'tis a marvel I am here at all. I have been hunted half over the city like a rabbit, and for longer than I care to remember have lain on my stomach on the wall of yonder garden, so still that a cat climbed over me and found nothing strange with the wall."
"Where is Roger Herrick?" asked Christine.
"That he bade me not tell you. He said you would not understand. I do not understand either. It is a place I should not choose to hide in. But there, it's a good thing all animals do not make for the same hole."
"Is he in danger?"
"He doesn't seem to think so."
"Has he been to the castle?"
"No. Friend Roger would hardly be such a fool as that."
"He spoke truly; I do not understand," said Christine.
"So far then he is wise, for he said you would not," Jean answered. "I had a message for Captain Lemasle, but he is not here. He also was to wait until friend Roger sent for him."
"You have seen Captain Lemasle?"
"Yes; but had no word with him. First one man followed me to-night, and I lost him; then presently half a dozen soldiers pounced on me, saying Count Felix had need of me. I was in a strait how to break loose and deliver my message. I said I was willing to go to the Count, but why should we not drink first; and as we went I got free. It was a long chase, mademoiselle, and presently I turned into the square here, and leaped on to the wall, and lay there. The crowd rushed by, and fell upon another man in the square – the captain."
"And took him?" said Christine.
"He fought as a man should, but there were fifty against him. Then he asked who they had been hunting, and when they told him, he shouted out that I might tell his friends. He guessed I was not far off, and I understood."
"They will hang him before to-morrow," said Christine.
"There are many hours yet before to-morrow," Jean answered. "I dropped into the garden, and have waited a long time. I did not want to climb to the wrong window. I was just going to break into the house, and bring my message, though I had to wake you from sleep to give it, when you looked down. In that moment the garden grew light, mademoiselle. You have your cloak on. Were you thinking of going out to-night?"
"Yes. To the castle to beg life for – "
"For Lemasle? I will do that."
"You! Who will listen to you?"
"Few know the castle as I do, mademoiselle. Friend Roger escaped from the South Tower, and the Captain shall not hang to-morrow, or, if he does, I will hang with him."
"That would be of small use to him," Christine said. "It would be company. Shall I take word to friend Roger that you will obey him?"
"Obey?"
"Indeed, he sent the message as though it were a command."
Christine slowly let the cloak slip from her shoulders. "Yes. I will obey. He sent no other message?"
The dwarf looked at her.
"No, mademoiselle. He was full of business to-night, he had no thought for anything else. Is your – your obedience all the message I carry back?"
"Yes. And tell him of Gaspard Lemasle."
"I will tell him. The captain shall not hang." And Jean began to get out of the window. "The creepers are strongly grown here; where a friend can enter an enemy may. Shut the window fast, mademoiselle." Christine, stood by the window as the dwarf let himself hang by the creeper.
"A still tongue, mademoiselle, will make this place safer than it otherwise might be."
"I know, Jean."
"Good-night, mademoiselle."
"Good-night, Jean."
The dwarf paused in his descent, and Christine leaned from the window.
"Jean," she whispered, "you may say to Roger Herrick that I trust him."
"Obedience and trust," murmured the dwarf as he dropped into the garden, and the ghost of a laugh floated up to Christine as she closed the window.
CHAPTER XIV
THE DUKE'S FOOL
The towers and spires of the city were silhouetted against the early grey of the dawn when Jean stood knocking at the postern beside the great gates of the castle.
The dwarf had hurried through the dark and deserted streets from the Place Beauvoisin to the Rue St. Romain, and had watched Herrick closely as he gave him the message, the promise of obedience and trust. By neither look nor word did Herrick betray whether the promise were more or less than he had hoped for; he seemed entirely absorbed in the events which must shortly come to pass. First with Herrick alone, and then with Father Bertrand, who joined them, Jean sat through the night discussing revolution and the fighting spirit that was in the people of Vayenne. At dawn he was at the castle to learn what was to happen to Gaspard Lemasle.
"You!" exclaimed the soldier as Jean stepped in.
"I've come to see the Count. It's no good to laugh and refuse me admittance. He wants to see me; has sent all over the city for me, I hear."
"That's true enough, and last night when they found you, you slipped away."
"And that's true, too, comrade," answered the dwarf.
"The Count heard of it, and you'll find him in no good mood this morning, I warrant."
"He'll listen to reason, and there was no reason in last night's affair," Jean returned. "Come, comrade, think of it yourself. Here was I, peaceably walking along a street, counting the moments that brought me nearer to my love, when – "
"Love!" laughed the soldier.
"Did I not speak plainly, or is it that your head is full of sleep yet and you are somewhat deaf?"
"Do you mean a girl?"
"Faith, friend, this is full early to be full of liquor," answered the dwarf. "What should a man love but a girl?"
The soldier nearly choked with laughter, and this brought two other men out of the guard-house to see what it was that so amused him.
"A girl! He says there's a girl who loves – who loves him," spluttered the soldier.
The dwarf looked from one to the other, an expression of blank dismay on his face.
"He laughs because a man courts a girl," Jean said to the other men. "Where is the humor in it? What goes he after when he goes courting? A talking parrot in a cage or a cat mow-wowing on a wall?"
"How long have you called yourself a man?" asked one of the soldiers, laughing.
"About as many years as you have. I warrant there were not many months between the time that you and I began to run alone," answered the dwarf; and then as though a reason for their mirth had only just occurred to him, Jean looked down at his deformed limbs. "Ah, now I see! That's the humor of it!" And he began to laugh uproariously too.
"You'd forgotten what you were like, eh, Jean?" they said in chorus.
The question only made the dwarf laugh the more, and his companions were astonished into seriousness.
"To think – to think that you are such fools!" Jean cried. "Do you suppose all girls love such men as you? Why, set you in a row, marching in step round the court-yard, and there aren't a dozen women in Vayenne who could pick out their own man. You're all alike, comrades, there are girls, mark you, who favor men more distinguished, men there is no mistake about, and care not a jot for just a sample of the ordinary kind, which look as though they had been turned out of the same mould by the dozen. My girl's of that sort."
"Pretty, Jean?" asked one.
"What's the color of her eye?" asked another; "for surely she can only have one, and that defective, if she looks with favor upon you."
"Last night I climbed to her balcony," said Jean solemnly. "My lady looked down from her window, as an angel might from an open door in heaven, and all the world seemed flooded with silver light. There was music in the air, music that thrilled my soul, her voice and her laughter. There was a sense of holiness about me as when incense rises from before an altar, and the prayers of saints meet sinners' prayers and, mingling, float upward to the throne of God. Her eyes were twin stars, afire with truth, to guide me in the way that leads to the hereafter; her hair an aureole like to the crown that I may win; and her breath, the essence of all the perfumes that cling about the fair fields of Paradise."
The men were silent, and laughed no more, for the dwarf looked almost inspired as he spoke.
"'Twas in St. Etienne. Surely he saw a vision last night," whispered one man to his companions.
"Wouldn't you have rushed from half a dozen miserable soldiers when such a love was awaiting your coming?" asked the dwarf, turning sharply to them. "It was not that I minded visiting the Count. He is hardly out of bed yet, eh, comrades, and I scent the perfume of coffee through the doorway there. Will you welcome me? The chill of the morning is in my bones."
"Come you in. I'll risk it," said the soldier who had opened the postern. "I ought to lock you up lest you escape again. Look you, Jean, the Count's in the mood to hang me if you run away."
"You shall not hang, comrade; my hand on it."
"They lost you last night, but they captured a bigger prize," said one man.
"That may easily be," the dwarf returned. "There are men of more inches than I am in plenty. Who was it they captured?"
"Captain Lemasle."
"Ah! a truculent man, but a brave soldier," said Jean. "What's his crime, and what will they do with him?"
"I know not the crime, but he's like to end there," was the answer as the man pointed to the top of the gate.
"That will be waste of good material," said Jean. "I must speak to the Count about it. Meanwhile the smell of that coffee haunts me." And he moved toward the door.
The man who told Count Felix that the dwarf had come to the castle, told him also that Jean was strange and talked of visions he had seen.
"Bring him to me here, at once. I will see him alone."
It was in a superstitious frame of mind that Felix had had the dwarf searched for. Deep in his schemes, with enemies constantly about him, and living in hourly uncertainty of what might happen, he was in the mood to augur good or ill from dreams and visions.
"I have sought for you everywhere," he said when Jean entered and the man who had brought him had gone.
"You were unfortunate in not finding me," said the dwarf, with a grotesque bow. "I am always at the Duke's service."
"Tell me, Jean, why do you call me Duke? You are in advance of time. The crown has not yet touched this head of mine."
"We speak of to-morrow ere the sun has risen upon it," the dwarf answered.
"True; but it might never dawn."
"Ah, my lord, one cannot stop to consider possibilities if life is to be lived."
"The other day you spoke of visions, visions in St. Etienne in the night. Is it true that you have been dreaming again?" asked Felix.
"I always dream; so do other men, only with the light they forget. I remember. Half our life is a dream, visions of things we long for, yet never attain to. Love, hope, ambition, they are all dreams, sometimes turned to realities, yet seldom fulfilling expectation."
"Have I entered into your visions?" asked Felix, and eagerness was in the question in spite of his efforts to conceal it.
"Often," answered the dwarf, quick to catch the trend of the Count's question. "Often, as lover, as a man of hope, as a slave of ambition."
"How say you? Slave!"
"Truly we are all slaves in varying degree; slaves to love, slaves – "
"Since when have I been slave to love?" asked Felix.
"Since the day a woman first said you nay," was the quick answer. It was a general answer enough, applicable to any man, yet the Count, remembering Elisabeth and Christine, found it easy to apply it forcibly to himself.
"And for the others, hope and ambition, what of them?" he asked.
"They stand with one foot on the steps of a throne," said Jean.
"And shall I mount it? Have your visions told you that?"
"Who can stop you?" asked the dwarf. "Is not the pale scholar of Passey dead? You did not know that when last we talked together, nor did I. Did I not leave you to go and welcome him at the gate of Vayenne? Yet I called you Duke then. I am but the dwarf of St. Etienne, a fool; yet maybe I sometimes utter prophecies."
There were steps outside the room, and then a soldier entered.
"Stand you here, Jean," said Felix. "You shall see how I deal with traitors."
"Have a care that you mistake not friends for traitors and traitors for friends," said the dwarf. "They have a habit of looking and speaking much alike." And, doubling his legs under him, Jean sank into a sitting posture by the Count's chair.
With chains upon his wrists, Gaspard Lemasle was marched into the room. He glanced at the dwarf, who did not meet his look, and then he fixed his eyes upon Felix.
"We looked upon you as an honest man, Lemasle," said Felix.
"Duke Robert ever found me so," was the answer.
"He is dead," said Felix, "and his son, who should have been Duke, was placed in your keeping. Where is he?"
"I do not know."
"He, too, is dead," said Felix. "His mangled corpse has been found in the forest yonder. How dare you come to Vayenne, Duke Maurice being dead?"
Lemasle was silent. He had no intention of being tricked into answering questions which might give the Count information.
"I will tell you," said Felix slowly. "You deserted him in his hour of need, not from actual cowardice it may be, that I will not accuse you of, but because you trusted in another man, and devoted yourself to Mademoiselle de Liancourt."
"I acted for the best," said Lemasle. "Should I have been welcome in Vayenne if Mademoiselle's body had been found mangled in the forest?"
"A loyal soldier obeys orders," the Count answered. "Your orders were to bring my cousin safe to Vayenne. There are plots in the city. I suggest that you never meant the young Duke to enter the city alive."
"You suggest – you – "
The dwarf raised his eyes for a moment, and Lemasle stopped.
"Well?" said Felix. "Have you an answer?"
"I was privy to no such plot."
"This priest in whom you trusted, where is he?" Felix asked sharply.
"I do not know, Count."
"Who was he?"
"An honest man, for he fought side by side with me," Lemasle answered. "I do him this justice, for the troopers can bear me witness that I complained loudly that he was of our company."
"You mean that his being there was Mademoiselle de Liancourt's wish?" said Felix. "Where is Mademoiselle?"
"She did not return with me to Vayenne," Lemasle said.
"Yet you know where she is?"
"I have said, sir, that we parted before I returned to the city."
"Answer me," said Felix, bringing his hand down heavily upon the table beside him.
Lemasle remained silent.
"You will not speak? Then I will see to it that you cannot. We have spies and traitors enough in Vayenne. They shall have warning of the fate in store for them. You shall hang at noon."
The Count, the prisoner, and the soldiers suddenly started, for at that instant the dwarf broke out into a howl of laughter, rocking himself from side to side until it seemed as though he must lose his balance and roll over.
"Peace! fool, peace!" Felix said angrily.
Jean only laughed the more.
"Did I not tell you that traitors and friends were often alike?" he cried. "When you hang that man as a traitor, hang me too, for company."
"It were easily done," said Felix.
"Easy enough," laughed the dwarf, "so there be wood sufficient for gallows, and hemp enough to break our necks. I warrant there's no lack of either in the castle. But two dangling in mid air is a poor sight; three would cover the great gate far better, and there's another may well hang with us – the jailer who let the spy escape the other night."
"That is a good thought," said Felix.
"And noon's an excellent time," said Jean, laughing still. "Send out and let the city know of the show. It would be a pity if none should see your warning."
"Never fear, they shall see it."
"And then hide yourself, Count – mark how I call you Count – hide yourself in the darkest hole you can find in the castle, and even then I warrant they'll find you out, and perhaps – " And then again Jean howled with laughter.
Felix sprang to his feet.
"Take this miserable fool out and whip him. Let strong arms get well tired before they cease and let him go."
Two soldiers hoisted the dwarf to his feet.
"Of your mercy, one word," he said, becoming suddenly serious.
"Speak."
"Was there not a Count once who dangled over the gate? I have heard it was so in Duke Conrad's time," said the dwarf.
"Take him away," Felix thundered.
"A moment," said Jean, exerting his full strength and throwing off the hands which held him. "A warning, Count. Mark the word: the people love not the breaking of laws, and it is unlawful that any man should hang over the castle gate but by order of the Duke of Montvilliers. To-day there is no Duke, only Count Felix."
The Count's teeth savagely bit into his under-lip. Jean was right, and Felix had no wish to incense the people.
"Be wise, wait," said Jean. "This man may be a traitor, but he can wait a day or two. He may confess if you give him time, and let him know that he may perhaps win life by confession. He had accomplices without doubt; he may name them if he has a little time for thought. In a few days when you are Duke, you may hang a whole company of soldiers, if you will, and if I help to choose them, may lose nothing by the sport."
"You are indeed a fool," said Felix, hiding his anger under a boisterous laugh, as men driven to bay often will.
"With wisdom enough to save you from folly," whispered the dwarf as he shuffled to the Count's chair and sat on the floor again.
"The fool has saved you, Lemasle," said Felix. "You hear what he says? I may be lenient if you decide to speak openly."
"I thank the fool," Lemasle answered.
"Keep him close," said the Count as the captain was taken from the room.
Jean turned slowly toward Felix when the door had closed.
"You will never mount the throne if you make such mistakes," he said. "To have me whipped was nothing; but to hang a man!"
"Be your own judge: do you deserve such punishment?"
"Yes; surely. Be as honest, Count, do you?"
"You are good for sad hours," laughed Felix. "You shall have a dress, Jean, a dress of bright colors, and a toy of bells in your hand to jingle. You shall gossip with me as you will, speak to me as no other shall dare to do though he boast the greatest name in Montvilliers. You shall come to honor, Jean."
