"Oh, not for the first time!" said she, tossing her head, but though it was to me she spoke her eyes were on Mademoiselle's face as if, being a woman, she feared the woman's judgment rather than the man's, "and I'm not ashamed either. What do we dogs of peasants who love one another need with a priest?"
"I rated you higher than that," said I.
"I know you did, Monsieur Gaspard," and the defiance in her eyes softened. "It was the one thing I loved in you, that, and that you were a gentleman who could make me mistress of Solignac, but I thought you a fool all the time. Then Jan Meert came and burnt Solignac for my sake, and that settled it. I'm no owl to roost on charred sticks, even to be called Madame."
"Jan Meert burnt Solignac for your sake?"
Again she laughed, but this time with a fuller heartiness, as if she were on surer ground and better pleased with herself.
"It's not every woman has her man do such a thing for her."
"He did more than that, he killed Babette?"
"Babette was a cat with claws in her tongue, many a time they've scratched me to the bone. Babette's no loss. But I let no harm come to you, Monsieur Gaspard. Remember how I lured you to me that day and kept you safe; you owe me thanks for that."
"Then you knew?"
"Not for certain, though I better than guessed. But you had always treated me en gentilhomme, and so——"