Again she interrupted him, to simplify what she knew must follow:
"Because you think that you love me."
He stepped forward to seize her hands; but she drew back and steadied herself against the wall.
"I do love you, sweet cousin."
"You do not love me. Need I give you the lie when your own tongue gives it you? Is it love when the nights become long, and the day dark, and position brings no pleasure? Arnaud, I love, and am held in prison; but my nights are short, my days warm, and my position is a happiness. Believe you that love, however unrequited, takes away from life? I tell you it adds, it enriches, it beautifies. It is a crown which makes a humble man a king, and the halo which makes the singing-girl a saint. Love gives a man strength to use his power, to defy superstition and false religion, to snap his fingers in the face of a fat priest who believes that a strong will may be bent and broken by holding the body in bondage. Had I my heart to offer I would scorn your cowardly love."
He had faced her while she spoke, but when she stopped he turned, and, feeling the sting of her eyes, savagely pulled at the cloak which had drifted from his shoulders.
"My mother has sent you," said Madeleine.
"She and I are bitter enemies," came the sullen answer. "I have but borne with her for your sake. She seeks to stir up mischief all the day long." He turned abruptly. "Have you no kind word for me, little cousin?"
He looked worn and old, and the girl pitied him; but she was too honest to deceive by fair speech.
"You brought me to this place against my will," she reminded him. "I was happy in our cabin beyond the river. You have played into the hands of my mother, who desires to see me punished because I have abjured her faith. Would you have brought me here had you found the plain country maid you had looked to see?"