"Oh, Galors," she began, "thou hast been my enemy declared for no
fault of mine, and dreadful wrong hast thou done to many harmless folk
who had never wronged thee. Yet, if I had never won back what was
mine, and still owed thee a living grudge instead of a grudge for the
unhappy dead, for the sake of her thou bringest me I must receive thee
here. Now give me that which thou didst promise. Let me see her."
Prosper stood melted by the pent passion of the woman, but by her
words stricken dumb. He understood that she should think him Galors,
and cared little if she did, for discovery must make his case the
stronger. But what she wanted with Isoult, what Galors had promised on
her score, passed all comprehension. He thought he knew enough of the
Countess to be sure she would not lightly forgive; yet here was the
Countess asking to see the girl who had made a fool of her! Withal her
need was painfully plain. He therefore took Isoult by the hand and led
her forward.
The Countess, shaking so that she could hardly stand, caught the girl
from him. But she could not look at her, only steadied herself by
clutching at her arms.
"Let me see the token," says she in an eager whisper.
So then Isoult unfastened her gown and took it out by its golden
chain.
The Countess received it in both hands as a relic. Yet hand and head
shook too much that she might see it. The poor lady held her wrist
with the other hand, lifted it up near her face; then she blinked her
eyes close to it. So for some time she remained, looking upon the
jewel, but seeing nothing, seeming to love the feel of it in her
hands, and crying all the while freely and noiselessly with streams of
tears down her cheeks. Next she dropped the crystal and took Isoult by
the shoulders, to peer in the same blind fashion into the girl's
wondering eyes. And then at last, with a little smothered cry, she
caught her to her bosom, straining her there with desperate hunger of
affection, while her tears and passionate weeping shook and shuddered
through her. In broken words, with sobs, half-moaning prayers, and
half-crazy thanksgivings, she spoiled herself of the tenderness and
frantic love a mother has, but no other under heaven.
Commanding herself in time, she raised her marred face high above her
daughter, who lay close in her arms, and turning to Prosper, said
steadily enough-"Galors, now declare thyself. Thou hast spoken so far the truth. This
is my true daughter, Pietosa de Bréauté, the daughter of my murdered
lord, Fulk de Bréauté, born in wedlock, and by me suffered to be
stolen away by him who first stole my body (but never my soul) from my
lord. Now ask of me, and I will give thee all, even to this treasure
at my breast. Declare thyself."