"But that danger is continuous; he is every day intoxicated. Oh, why did I come to this distant region of Gaul, where I feel an utter stranger!"
And after a long interval of sad revery:
"Morise—my good Morise!"
"You, all of you slaves, do not hate me, do you?"
"No, madam; you are not wicked like Wisigarde—you never whip and bite us."
"Morise, listen to me."
"Madam, I listen. But why are you silent? And your cheeks, otherwise so pale, growing incarnate—"
"It is because I dare not tell you. But listen, you are—you are—one of monseigneur the count's favorites."
"I have no choice—if not willingly, I must submit by force. Despite my repugnance for him, I prefer to share his bed whenever he orders me, than to be striped by his whip, or be sent out to turn the wheel of the mill; and by quietly submitting, I am employed in household work; that is easier than to be employed at the hard labor of the fields—it is a choice of evils—this is the lesser, and the food is not as poor."