“Grace for that scoundrel in return for a kiss.”
“Oh! with all my heart!” cried the young girl. “Save the life of a man with a kiss! I am sure that our good Curé himself would say there was no sin in that.”
And without waiting for the Baron to stoop and take himself what he had asked for, she threw off her wooden-shoe, placed her dainty little foot on the tip of the wolf-hunter’s boot, and taking hold of the horse’s mane, lifted herself up with a spring to the level of the face of the hardy huntsman, and there of her own accord offered him her round cheek, fresh, and velvety as the down of an August peach.
The Lord of Vez had bargained for one kiss, but he took two; then, true to his sworn word, he made a sign to Marcotte to stay the execution.
Marcotte was religiously counting his strokes; the twelfth was about to descend when he received the order to stop, and he did not think it expedient to stay it from falling. It is possible that he also thought it would be as well to give it the weight of two ordinary blows, so as to make up good measure and give a thirteenth in; however that may be, it is certain that it furrowed Thibault’s shoulders more cruelly than those that went before. It must be added, however, that he was unbound immediately after.
Meanwhile the Baron was conversing with the young girl.
“What is your name, my pretty one?”
“Georgine Agnelette, my Lord, my mother’s name! but the country people are content to call me simply Agnelette.”
“Ah, that’s an unlucky name, my child,” said the Baron.
“In what way my Lord?” asked the girl.