She bowed down suddenly, her hair falling forward like a cataract, her eyes large with a tearless hunger. Pointing to the man on Jaspar's knee, she looked into the harper's face, and spoke to him.
"Quick, the truth. I fear it no longer."
Her voice was toneless and hoarse as an untuned string. She beat her hands together, and then stood with her fists pressed over her heart.
"Quick, the truth."
The old man turned the body gently to the grass, and still knelt at the woman's feet.
"It is Jean," he said, with great quietness, "Jean the swineherd. He is dead. God rest his soul!"
She bent forward again with arm extended, her voice deep and hoarse in her throat.
"Tell me, who is it that has slain my father?"
"They of Gambrevault."
"Ah!"