your cattle led away, your own house torn down, your fellows
reduced to slavery--can you prefer that to the voluntary payment of a
few gold sous contributed by you into the treasury of the King of the
Franks?"

"I certainly would prefer to pay even twenty gold sous, rather than be
ruined."

"It is not merely your own earthly possessions that are at stake. You
have a wife, a family, friends. Would you, out of vain pride, expose so
many beings, dear to your heart, to the horrible dangers of war, of a
war of extermination, of a war without mercy, all the more when, as you
must admit, you can no longer find in the Breton people the indomitable
spirit that once was its distinctive feature?"

"No," answered Morvan with a somber and pensive mien, his elbows resting
on his knees and his forehead hidden in his hands; "no, the Breton
people are no longer what they once were."

"To my mind, the change is one of the triumphs of the Catholic Church.
In your eyes it is an evil. But, if evil it be, it is a fact, and you
are bound to recognize it. Brittany, once invincible, has been several
times invaded by the Franks during the last century. What has happened
before will happen again. And yet, notwithstanding the mistrust that you
entertain of your own powers of resistance, notwithstanding the
certainty of succumbing, could you still wish to engage in the struggle
in lieu of paying a tribute that curtails in nothing, either your own
liberty or that of your people?"

Shaken by the insidious arguments of the priest, Morvan remained silent
for a moment; after a short struggle with himself, he asked: "How high
will be the tribute that your King demands?"

Witchaire thrilled with joy at Morvan's question. He concluded the
Breton had decided in favor of base submission. At that juncture Noblede
entered the apartment to give her husband the good-night kiss. At sight
of her the Breton blushed. He allowed his wife to approach him without
affectionately advancing to meet her, as was his wont. The Breton woman
almost guessed the cause of the embarrassed manner of Morvan, and of the
triumphant looks of the Frankish abbot. Concealing her grief, the woman
walked to her husband, who remained seated, and kissed his hand. A
tremor shook the Breton chief's frame; his will, shaken for a moment,
regained its own command; he leaped up and passionately clasped his wife
to his breast. Happy and proud at feeling the throbbing of her own heart
answered