The woman smiled again, and said: “My Lady, when thou hast sent me to the White Pillar, or the Red, or the Black, my stripes will not mend the matter for thee, or quench the fear of thine heart that by this time, since he is a grown man, he loveth some other. Yet belike he will obey thee if thou command, even to the lying in the same bed with thee; for he is a thrall.” The Lady hung her head, but Agatha went on in her sweet clear voice: “The Lord will think little of it, and say nothing of it unless thou anger him otherwise; or unless, indeed, he be minded to pick a quarrel with thee, and hath baited a trap with this stripling. But that is all unlike: thou knowest why, and how that he loveth the little finger of that new-come thrall of his (whom ye left at home at Utterbol in his despite), better than all thy body, for all thy white skin and lovely limbs. Nay, now I think of it, I deem that he meaneth this gift to make an occasion for the staying of any quarrel with thee, that he may stop thy mouth from crying out at him—well, what wilt thou do? he is a mighty Lord.”
The Lady looked up (for she had hung her head at first), her face all red with shame, yet smiling, though ruefully, and she said: “Well, thou art determined that if thou art punished it shall not be for naught. But thou knowest not my mind.” “Yea, Lady,” said Agatha, smiling in despite of herself, “that may well be.”
Now the Lady turned from her, and went and sat upon a stool that was thereby, and said nothing a while; only covering her face with her hands and rocking herself to and fro, while Agatha stood looking at her. At last she said: “Hearken, Agatha, I must tell thee what lieth in mine heart, though thou hast been unkind to me and hast tried to hurt my soul. Now, thou art self-willed, and hot-blooded, and not unlovely, so that thou mayst have loved and been loved ere now. But thou art so wily and subtle that mayhappen thou wilt not understand what I mean, when I say that love of this young man hath suddenly entered into my heart, so that I long for him more this minute than I did the last, and the next minute shall long still more. And I long for him to love me, and not alone to pleasure me.”
“Mayhappen it will so betide without any pushing the matter,” said Agatha.
“Nay,” said the Lady, “Nay; my heart tells me that it will not be so; for I have seen him, that he is of higher kind than we be; as if he were a god come down to us, who if he might not cast his love upon a goddess, would disdain to love an earthly woman, little-minded and in whom perfection is not.” Therewith the tears began to run from her eyes; but Agatha looked on her with a subtle smile and said: “O my Lady! and thou hast scarce seen him! And yet I will not say but that I understand this. But as to the matter of a goddess, I know not. Many would say that thou sitting on thine ivory chair in thy golden raiment, with thy fair bosom and white arms and yellow hair, wert not ill done for the image of a goddess; and this young man may well think so of thee. However that may be, there is something else I will say to thee; (and thou knowest that I speak the truth to thee—most often—though I be wily). This is the word, that although thou hast time and again treated me like the thrall I am, I deem thee no ill woman, but rather something overgood for Utterbol and the dark lord thereof.”
Now sat the Lady shaken with sobs, and weeping without stint; but she looked up at that word and said: “Nay, nay, Agatha, it is not so. Today hath this man’s eyes been a candle to me, that I may see myself truly; and I know that though I am a queen and not uncomely, I am but coarse and little-minded. I rage in my household when the whim takes me, and I am hotheaded, and masterful, and slothful, and should belike be untrue if there were any force to drive me thereto. And I suffer my husband to go after other women, and this new thrall is especial, so that I may take my pleasure unstayed with other men whom I love not greatly. Yes, I am foolish, and empty-headed, and unclean. And all this he will see through my queenly state, and my golden gown, and my white skin withal.”
Agatha looked on her curiously, but smiling no more. At last she said: “What is to do, then? or must I think of something for thee?”
“I know not, I know not,” said the Lady between her sobs; “yet if I might be in such case that he might pity me; belike it might blind his eyes to the ill part of me. Yea,” she said, rising up and falling walking to and fro swiftly, “if he might hurt me and wound me himself, and I so loving him.”
Said Agatha coldly: “Yes, Lady, I am not
