You are to come home. And―and he wanted to help you. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. . This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard. She was never able to trace the changes her attitude had undergone, from the time when she believed herself to be the pampered Queen of Fortune, the crown of a good man’s love (and secretly, but nobly, worshipping some one else), to the time when she realized she was in fact just a mannequin for her lover’s imagination, and that he cared no more for the realities of her being, for the things she felt and desired, for the passions and dreams that might move her, than a child cares for the sawdust in its doll. She ran from the knave into the women’s quarters.
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