“You have a fine cow,” said he.

“Would you like a little milk?” replied she.  “It is so warm these early days of May.  You are far from the town.”

In truth, the sky was a cloudless blue, and glared like a forge.  Everything was radiant with youth, the leaves, the air, the girls, the lads; everything was burning, was green, and smelt like balm.  This naive offer, made without the hope of recompense, though a byzant would not have paid for the special grace of this speech; and the modesty of the gesture with which the poor girl turned to him gained the heart of the jeweller, who would have liked to be able to put this bondswoman into the skin of a queen, and Paris at her feet.

“Nay, my child, I thirst not for milk, but for you, whom I would have leave to liberate.”

“That cannot be, and I shall die the property of the abbey.  For years we have lived so, from father to son, from mother to daughter.  Like my ancestors, I shall pass my days on this land, as will also my children, because the abbot cannot legally let us go.”

“What!” said the Touranian; “has no gallant been tempted by your bright eyes to buy your liberty, as I bought mine from the king?”

“It would cost too dear; thus it is those whom at first sight I please, go as they came.”

“And you have never thought of gaining another country in company of a lover on horseback on a fleet courser?”

“Oh yes.  But, monseigneur, if I were caught I should be hanged at least; and my gallant, even were he a lord, would lose more than one domain over it, besides other things.  I am not worth so much; besides, the abbey has arms longer than my feet are swift.  So I live on in perfect obedience to God, who has placed me in this plight.”

“What is your father?”

“He tends the vines in the gardens of the abbey.”

“And your mother?”

“She is a washerwoman.”

“And what is your name?”

“I have no name, dear sir.  My father was baptised Etienne, my mother is Etienne, and I am Tiennette, at your service.”

“Sweetheart,” said the jeweller, “never has woman pleased me as you please me; and I believe that your heart contains a wealth of goodness.  Now, since you offered yourself to my eyes at the moment when I was firmly deliberating upon taking a companion, I believe that I see in you a sign from heaven!  And if I am not displeasing to you, I beg you to accept me as your friend.”

Immediately the maid lowered her eyes.  These words were uttered in such a way, in so grave a tone, so penetrating a manner, that the said Tiennette burst into tears.

“No, monseigneur, I should be the cause of a thousand unpleasantnesses, and of your misfortune.  For a poor bondsmaid, the conversation has gone far enough.”

“Ho!” cried Anseau; “you do not know, my child, the man you are dealing with.”

The Touranian crossed himself, joined his hands, and said—­