“My friends be very few, Joconde, and Benedicta hath her husband.”
“Yolande,” said he, leaning nearer, “whither should I bear thee?”
“Nay,” saith she, patting the daisy with gentle finger-tip, “go thou and saddle thy horse, mayhap I shall know this anon. Go thou and saddle the horse.” So Jocelyn arose and having saddled and bridled the horse, back he cometh to find Yolande on her knees beside the stream, and she, hearing his step, bowed her head, hiding her face from him; now on the sward beside her lay the picture shattered beyond repair.
“How,” said Jocelyn, “hast broken the Duke's picture, lady!”
“Thou seest!” she answered.
“And must thou weep therefore?” said he a little bitterly. “Oh, be comforted; 't was but a toy—soon will I get thee another.”
“An thou bring me another, Joconde, that will I break also.”
“Ha—thou didst break it—wilfully, then?”
“With this stone, Joconde.”
“Wherefore, O wherefore?” he questioned eagerly.