she continued weeping, "I am quite devoted to you. I would not go against your will in anything, but your reputation and illustrious name are dearer to me and more sacred than my own conscience. It is my great love alone that inspires my words. Ah Henry, if you only knew!"
Sobs prevented her from continuing.
"Blandine," said the Dykgrave, with more gentleness, pitying her grief, "what is the matter with you? Once more, I don't understand you. Explain yourself, do."
"Well, Count, not only do the people of the village laugh at your strange affection for this little shepherd, but some go so far as to assert that you divert him from his duties to his family. And what do they not invent besides! In short, everybody sees it in an evil light that you thus cherish a wretched little cowboy."
"And you, yourself, have not you kept cows? How proud you've become!" said the Dykgrave, cruelly.
"I am proud of belonging to you, Count, and then the Countess—"
Blandine hesitated.
"My grandmother?" inquired the Count.
"Your sainted grandparent, my protec-
