"Yes, madam—"
"Chrotechilde, age seems to dull your powers of penetration—perhaps I may have to look for some other confidante."
"Madam, please explain yourself—"
"I mean to test how far the present dullness that seems to have come over you may go."
"Truly, madam, I am at a loss to understand you—"
"Tell me, Chrotechilde, did not my son Childebert, when he died assassinated by Fredegonde, leave me the guardianship of his two sons, my grandchildren, Thierry and Theudebert?"
"Yes—madam—but I was speaking of the two female slaves—and not of your children."
"At what age was my grandson Theudebert a father?"
"At thirteen—at that age he had a son from Bilichilde, the dark-complexioned slave with green eyes, for whom you paid a big price. I still see her wild looks, as uncommon as her style of beauty. For the rest, she had a nymph's waist, and wavy and jet-black hair that reached the floor. I never in my life saw such hair. But why do you look so somber?"
"The vile slave! Did not that miserable Bilichilde gain a fatal ascendency over my grandson Theudebert, despite the many other concubines that we furnished him?"