‘Mademoiselle will see,’ chuckled Berthe, her expression inexpressibly sly.
‘Don’t look so strangely, Berthe, you frighten me!’ cried Madeleine. She was in a state of great nervous excitement.
‘But, Mademoiselle, it is only a tale—it is just like Albert, he will sometimes cry his eyes out over a sad tale. I remember one evening at the Fête des Rois, the Curé——’
‘Go on with the story,’ cried Madeleine.
‘Where was I? Oh, yes.... Well, Ulysse stayed with them some days, and he would borrow a blue smock from one of Nausicaa’s brothers and help to bring in the hay, and in the evening tell them stories of strange countries or play to them on the lute. And he would wander with Nausicaa in the orchard, and though his talk was pretty and full of fleurettes, he never spoke of love. Well, one evening a Troubadour—Mademoiselle knows what that is?’
‘Of course!’
‘Came to the door and they asked him in, and after supper he sang them songs all about the Siege of Troy and the hardships undergone by Charlemagne and his knights when they fought there for la belle Hélène, and as he listened Ulysse could not keep from weeping, and they watched him, wondering. And when the song was finished they were all silent. And then Ulysse spoke up, saying he would no longer keep his name from them—“and, indeed,” he added proudly, “it is not a name that need make its bearer blush, for,” said he, “I am the lord Ulysse!” At that they all exclaimed with wonder, and Nausicaa turned as white as death, but Ulysse did not look at her. Then he told them of all the troubles sent him by Saint Nicholas and how fain he was to get to his own country and to his lady who was waiting for him in a high tower, but that he had no ship. Then Nausicaa’s father clapped him on the shoulder, although he was such a great lord, and told him that he had some ships of his own to carry his corn to barren countries like England, and that he should have one to take him home. Then he filled up their glasses with good red Beaume and drank to his safe arrival, but Nausicaa said never a word and left the room. And next morning she was there, standing by a pillar of the door to bid him godspeed, smiling bravely, for though she was but a farmer’s daughter she had a noble fierté. But after he had gone she could do nothing but weep, and pray to the Virgin to send her comfort. And some tell that in time she forgot the lord Ulysse and the grievous sorrow he had brought on her, and wedded with a neighbouring farmer and gat him fair children.
‘But others tell that the poor soul could not rid herself of the burden of her grief, but did use to pass the nights in weeping and the days in roaming, wan and cheerless, by the sea-waves or through the meadows. And one eve as she wandered thus through a field of corn, it chanced that one of God’s angels was flying overhead, and he saw the damsel, and his strange bloodless heart was filled with love and pity of her, and he swooped down on her and caught her up to Paradise.
‘ ... There is Madame calling me!’ and Berthe hurried from the room.
Madeleine lay quite still on her bed, with a frightened shadow in her eyes. Ever since Jacques’s dissertation on the Symmetry of the Comic Muse, terror had been howling outside the doors of her soul, but now it had boldly entered and taken possession.