"I don't understand you, La Louve."
"Just now, in the court, I said to myself, 'I will not yield to La
Goualeuse,' and yet I have again given way to you." "But—"
"I tell you this can't last so."
"What have you against me, La Louve?"
"Why, I am no longer the same since your arrival; no, I have no more courage, strength, or hardihood."
Interrupting herself, she pushed up the sleeve of her dress and showed to La Goualeuse her strong white arm, pointing out to her, pricked in with indelible ink, a poniard half plunged in a red heart; over this emblem were these words:
"Death to Dastards! MARTIAL. For life!"
"Do you see that?" cried La Louve.
"Yes; it makes me afraid," said La Goualeuse, turning away her head.
"When Martial, my lover, wrote this with a red-hot needle, he thought me brave; if he knew my conduct for three days past, he would drive his knife in my body, as this poniard is planted in this heart; and he would be right, for be has written there 'Death to Dastards' and I am one."