"Lutheran!" screamed the little woman. "Make the holy sign, and so strive to save your wicked soul from the pit of destruction wherein your father lies."
"My faith is fixed," murmured the girl. "Ah, ah!" she panted.
Madame Labroquerie struck the girl thrice upon her fair cheek, staining the white skin red as a roseleaf.
"Madame, forbear!" Viner stood between them, his blood hot with shame. "This is no sight for a stranger and a man to witness."
The little woman smiled at him and abandoned her daughter, who bent over the fire to hide her crimson face.
"You are English, sir. Your brave countrymen yield to none in their respect for a woman, when she be young and fair to see. Let her be old, they shall call her witch and fling her in the nearest pond. There be young witches, good sir, better able to seduce the soul of man than the old, though they keep neither cat nor toad, nor ride at night across the face of the moon."
Madame Labroquerie made him a low courtesy, and walked noiselessly to the gate of the palisade.
"That so lovely a daughter should be cursed with such a mother!" muttered the youth as he watched her go.
He came to the side of Madeleine, and found her crying.
"My mother has a strange temper. She has suffered much," the girl sighed.