"I do not step out of the burg."
"Because you do not wish to. Wisigarde rode on horseback and hunted. You should have seen her on her black palfrey, with her purple robe, and her falcon on her finger! At any rate, though she be dead, she never wasted time grieving—while you, madam, do nothing else than work at your distaff, or gaze at the sky from your window, or weep—what a life! What a sad existence!"
"Alas, it is because I am always thinking of my own country, of my parents, so far away—so far away from this country of Gaul, where I am an utter stranger."
"Wisigarde did not trouble herself about such matters—she drank deeply, and ate almost as much as the count."
"He always told me and my father that she died of an accident. And so you assure me, Morise, that it is there—on that spot—that he killed her?"
"Yes, madam, he threw her down with a kick—she fell near that beam—and then—"
"What ails you, Morise—why do you tremble?"
"Madam, madam, do you not hear?"
"There is someone walking in seigneur the count's room—I hear the seats pushed about."