“See, Yvonne,” he said soothingly, “I am no monseigneur, I am only a poor vicomte, but you shall have another cow, a spotted cow, too.”
But she would not believe it, whereupon he took all the money in his purse, four gold pieces and three silver ones, and thrust them into her hand.
She stared at the money incredulously.
“There, girl,” he urged, for a woman’s distress, even though she were only a peasant, hurt him, “be happy and buy a fat and spotted cow.”
She kneeled to kiss his hand. “Monseigneur,” she sobbed, “is kind to a poor wench. Surely the good God has sent him to me,” and she poured her hot tears of gratitude on the ruffles of his sleeve.
“I am happy again,” she murmured. “Yes, I will buy a cow and be happy,” and she began to sing, flinging the coarse matted hair out of her eyes.
André watched her contentedly; it was pleasant to see her joy.
“Monseigneur is not happy,” she surprised him by saying shyly.
“Can the poor be happy?” he asked, absently, for he was thinking of the goddess in pink.
“No,” she muttered, “not while there are robbers in the land, and the poor are taxed till they starve. Monseigneur is in love. Did I not see him talk with the great lady in green?” she added suddenly. “Ah, if Monseigneur would listen to a poor girl he too could be happy.”