‘Will he consent to our marriage?’
‘No.’
‘Let him die then.’
‘But what will the Countess say?’
‘The Countess will understand that it is not your fault; the Count alone is guilty of his own death.’
‘Let us wait a little. Perhaps his heart may be softened.’
So they waited for one month, for two, for six, for a year. The spinner spun no more. The Count had ceased to persecute her, but he still refused his consent to the marriage. Guilbert became impatient.
The poor girl loved him with her whole soul, and she was more unhappy than she had been before, when Burchard was only tormenting her body.
‘Let us have done with it,’ said Guilbert.
‘Wait a little still,’ pleaded Renelde.