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In the heart of Pol, Sylvestre Ker saw pride of strength and gross cupidity; in the spot where should have been the heart of Matheline, he saw Matheline, and nothing but Matheline, in adoration before Matheline. "I have seen enough," said Sylvestre Ker. "Then," replied Satan, "listen!"
Josserande, Matheline, and Pol Bihan had just turned from the sunken road which branches towards Plouharnel; and the moon played hide-and-go-seek behind a flock of little clouds that flitted over the sky like lambs. Then a strange thing happened.
Even behind the hedge which enclosed the abbey orchard Matheline and Pol were hidden to see her pass; and she heard Pol say, "Will you come to-night to see the wolf run around?" "Without fail," replied Matheline; and the sting of her laughter pierced Josserande like a poisonous thorn. The grand abbot received her, surrounded by great books and dusty manuscripts.
No one visited them in the tower except the laughing Matheline, the heiress of the tenant of Coat-Dor and god-daughter of Josserande; and Pol Bihan, son of the successor of Martin Ker as armed keeper of the great door. Both Pol and Matheline often conversed together, and upon what subject do you think? Always of Sylvestre Ker. Was it because they loved him? No.
"Go out from here, you wicked crowd," cried Sylvestre Ker, sweeping around with a broom of holly branches. "What are you doing here? Go outside, cursed spirits, damned souls go, go!" From all the corners of the room came laughter; Matheline seemed everywhere.
Can all the riches in the world pay for one of the tears that the ingratitude of a beloved son draws from his mother's eyes?" Suddenly her thoughts were arrested, for the sound of a trumpet was heard in the still night. "It is the convent horn," said Matheline. "And it sounds the wolf-alarm," added Pol.
Instead of speaking to God, Pol Bihan and Matheline whispered together, and Sylvestre Ker heard them as distinctly as if he had been between them. "How much will the fool give?" asked Matheline. "The idiot will give you all," replied Pol. "And must I really squint with that one-eyed creature, and limp with the lame wretch?" Sylvestre Ker felt his heart die away within him.
What Matheline loved most was her own fair self, and Pol Bihan's best friend was named Pol Bihan. Matheline passed long hours before her little mirror of polished steel, which faithfully reflected her laughing mouth full of pearls; and Pol was proud of his great strength, for he was the best wrestler in the Carnac country.
And Matheline, dazzled by the red light from his eyes, added: "It seems he is no longer one-eyed!" Pol brandished his club, and continued, "What are we waiting for? Why not attack him?" "Go you first," said the men. "I caught cold the other day, and my leg is stiff, which keeps me from running," answered Pol. "Then I will go first!" cried Matheline, raising her pitchfork.
"That is true," also repeated Matheline, for she always spoke as he did. "Ker, my friend Ker," resumed Bihan, "wait until to-morrow, and we will make you happy." And off they went, Matheline and he, arm-in-arm, leaving Sylvestre to go hobbling along to the tower, alone with his sad thoughts. Would you believe it?
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