With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. What his head conceived his hand executed. Besides, she had admitted her identity. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. Her aunt went off at a tangent. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. But here she met with a check. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. ‘I am not a person, Marthe. Blest with a fond husband, surrounded by every comfort, you have never been assailed by the horrible temptations to which misery has exposed me.
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