On the morning after his strange wedding Prosper rose up early, quite
himself. He left Isoult asleep in the bed, but could see neither old
man, old woman, nor friar; so far as he could tell, he and his wife
were alone in the cottage. Now he must think what to do. He admitted
freely enough to himself that he had not been in a condition for this
overnight; the girl's mood had exalted him; he had acted, and rightly
acted (he was clear about this); now he must think what to do. The
first duty was plain: he went out into the air and bathed in a pool;
he took a quick run and set his blood galloping; then he groomed and
fed his horse; put on his armour, and said his prayers. In the course
of this last exercise he again remembered his wife, on whose account
he had determined to make up his mind. He rose from his knees at once
and walked about the heath, thinking it out.
"It is clear enough," he said to himself, "that neither my wife nor I
desired marriage. We are not of the same condition; we have not--I
speak for myself and by implication for her also--we have not those
desires which draw men and women towards each other. Love, no doubt,
is a strange and terrible thing: it may lead a man to the writing of
verses and a most fatiguing search for words, but it will not allow
him to be happy in anything except its own satisfaction; and in that
it seems absurd to be happy. Marriage is in the same plight: it may be
a good or a bad thing; without love it is a ridiculous thing.
Nevertheless my wife and I are of agreement in this, that we think
marriage better than being hanged. I do not understand the
alternatives, but I accept them, and am married. My wife will not be
hanged. For the rest, I shall take her to Gracedieu. The devout ladies
there will no doubt make a nun of her; she will be out of harm's way,
and all will be well."
He said another prayer, and rose up much comforted. And then as he got
up Isoult came out of the cottage.
She ran towards him quickly, knelt down before he could prevent her,
took his hand and kissed it. She was very shy of him, and when he
raised her up and kissed her forehead, suffered the caress with
lowered eyes and a face all rosy. Prosper found her very different
from the tattered bride of over-night. She had changed her rags for a
cotton gown of dark blue, her clouds of hair were now drawn back over
her ears into a knot and covered with a silk hood of Indian work. On
her feet, then bare, he now saw sandals, round her waist a leather
belt with a thin dagger attached to it in a silver sheath. She looked
very timidly, even humbly up at him whenever he spoke to her--with the
long faithfulness of a dog shining in her big eyes: but she looked
like a girl who was to be respected, and even Prosper could not but
perceive what a dark beauty she was. Pale she was, no doubt, except
when she blushed; but this she did as freely as hill-side clouds in
March.