Perhaps, as she watched the troubadour riding forth into the world, she rebelled against her task of eternal waiting and submitting; against the all-extensive claims made upon her as part and parcel of her husband's estate and dignity: for her position in this respect was made clear enough when he threateningly commended to her vigilance the duty of safeguarding his name and the "honour" of his house on pain of punishment such as only a mediæval seigneur could devise.
Called to account for every act and word, admonished like a child--and often in the tone used to the hounds after a bad day's sport--not the most secret emotion of her heart legitimately her own--body and soul the property of her lord and his all-important family: her life was one long reminder of the humiliating facts. Was she tired of being warder of her own prison? Even the hounds were not that! Was she sick of this strange stewardship of herself as the property of another? Must she remain for ever shut away from ambitions, passions, hopes? Was she never to know what love and loyalty as between free human souls meant? Was she never--fool, fool that she was----?
Some interruption occurred here, and Alazais ceased to soliloquise.
Barbara said that there was really no need to address as "fool, fool" the entirely sensible-looking nun who emerged from the church of St. Vincent, with her Mass-book in her hand.
The apparition of a creature of flesh and blood in this strange place was almost startling, and it brought back considerations of time and place and other delusive modes of human thought. There was dinner to be considered--delusive but necessary as delusions are;--in short, the hour of departure had struck.
We turned slowly, reluctantly from the parapet, thinking of Raimbaut de Vacqueiras as he rode away to his new destiny, his wanderings from court to court, his ardent love-affairs at Montferrat, his joys and great sorrows, till at last wearied with misunderstandings, disappointments, and saddened with the restless trouble of his life, he joined the Crusades and died fighting against the Saracens.
The home of Alazais looked more shadowy and mournful than ever as we passed it on our downward way.
"De la solitaire demeure Une ombre lourde d'heure en heure, Se détache sur le gazon, Et cet ombre, couchée et morte Est la seule chose qui sorte Tout le jour de cette maison."