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Updated: May 29, 2025
That cry of Haro makes the workman drop his tools, the woman her knitting, the militiaman his musket, the fisherman his net, the schoolmaster his birch, and the ecrivain his babble, to await the judgment of the Royal Court. Every jurat fixed his eye upon Guida as though she had come to claim his life. The Bailly's lips opened twice as though to speak, but no words came.
Her eye wandered to the racllyi, with its flitches of bacon, to the dreschiaux and the sanded floor, to the great Elizabethan oak chair, and at last back to Guida, as though through her the lost voice might be charmed up again. The eyes of the two met now, fairly, firmly; and Guida was conscious of a look in the other's face which she had never seen before.
Yet never but to her mother had Guida said so much to any human being as within these past few moments to Philip d'Avranche. The conditions were almost maliciously favourable, and d'Avranche was simple and easy as a boy, with his sailor's bonhomie and his naturally facile spirit. A fateful adaptability was his greatest weapon in life, and his greatest danger.
In any case, they held it was not for them to comment upon a woman or upon a woman's ways. And a girl like Guida was an incomprehensible being, with an orbit and a system all her own; whose sayings and doings were as little to be reduced to their understandings as the vagaries of any star in the Milky Way or the currents in St. Michael's Basin.
No good will come to you in the end, nannin-gia! When you go to die, you will think and think and think of that beautiful Guida Landresse; you will think and think of the heart you kill, and you will call, and she will not come. You will call till your throat rattle, but she will not come, and the child of sorrow you give her will not come no, bidemme!
She unfolded the letter slowly, and Guida stopped sewing, but mechanically began to prick the linen lying on her knee with the point of the needle. "Well," said Carterette deliberately, "this letter's from a pend'loque of a fellow at least, we used to call him that though if you come to think, he was always polite as mended porringer. Often he hadn't two sous to rub against each other.
Guida stood watching her from the doorway, and the last words of the fisher-wife kept repeating themselves through her brain: "And if there is war, I will have two beads, trejous." So, Maitresse Aimable knew she loved Philip! How strange it was that one should read so truly without words spoken, or through seeing acts which reveal.
Well, I did love and I do love some one else, and I should only be doing right to tell her, and to ask her to let me stand with her against the world." He was looking down at her with all his story in his face. She put out her hand quickly as if in protest and said: "Ranulph ah no, Ranulph " "But yes, Guida," he replied with stubborn tenderness, "it is you I mean it is you I've always meant.
For the first time since he had spoken she smiled, yet her eyes filled with tears too. "You will let me tell you that I love you, Guida it is all I ask now: that you will listen to me?" She sighed, but did not answer. She kept looking at him, looking as though she would read his inmost soul. Her face was very young, though the eyes were so wise in their simplicity.
Guida stooped quickly and kissed her on the cheek. "You'll never regret that. And you will have to go on believing still, but you'll not be sorry in the end, 'tresse Aimable," she said, and turned away to the fireplace. An hour afterwards Mattresse Aimable was upon her way to St. Heliers, but now she carried her weight more easily and panted less.
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