Belasez drew a long breath, and shook her head sadly.
“No,” she said. “I have never known that.”
“Because thou hast never known Jesus Christ.”
“I know He said, ‘I am the life,’” responded the girl slowly. “And life is not worth much. Perhaps it might be,—if one were satisfied.”
“Poor child! Is life not worth much to thee?” answered the priest in a pitying tone. “And thou art very young—not much over twenty.”
“I am under twenty. I am just eighteen.”
Once more Bruno’s face was convulsed.
“Just eighteen!” he said. “Yes—Licorice’s child! Yet she had no pity. Aye me—just eighteen!”
“Do you know my mother?” said Belasez in accents of mingled surprise and curiosity.
“I did—eighteen years ago.”