“Monseigneur, I am the daughter of an homme de corps; thus whoever unites himself to me by marriage, will become a bondsman, even if he were a citizen of Paris, and would belong body and goods to the abbey.  If he loved me otherwise, his children would still belong to the domain.  For this reason I am neglected by everyone, abandoned like a poor beast of the field.  But what makes me most unhappy is, that according to the pleasure of monseigneur the abbot, I shall be coupled at some time with a bondsman.  And if I were less ugly than I am, at the sight of my collar the most amorous would flee from me as from the black plague.”

So saying, she pulled her cow by the cord to make it follow her.

“And how old are you?” asked the silversmith.

“I do not know, monseigneur; but our master, the abbot, has kept account.”

This great misery touched the heart of the good man, who had in his day eaten the bread of sorrow.  He regulated his pace to the girl’s, and they went together towards the water in painful silence.  The good man gazed at the fine forehead, the round red arms, the queen’s waist, the feet dusty, but made like those of a Virgin Mary; and the sweet physiognomy of this girl, who was the living image of St. Genevieve, the patroness of Paris, and the maidens who live in the fields.  And make sure that this Joseph suspected the pretty white of this sweet girl’s breasts, which were by a modest grace carefully covered with an old rag, and looked at them as a schoolboy looks at a rosy apple on a hot day.  Also, may you depend upon it that these little hillocks of nature denoted a wench fashioned with delicious perfection, like everything that the monks possess.  Now, the more it was forbidden our silversmith to touch them, the more his mouth watered for these fruits of love.  And his heart leaped almost into his mouth.

“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?”