The Black Bandit
By Anna Nolte
Chapter I
A tall man with a sinister countenance approached a shorter man that was livid with rage.
“Has he struck again?”
“Yes, damn him,” growled the short man, “He raids and pillages our villages just out of our reach and just when we think we got him…he retreats with his plunder. Damn him!” And he brought his clenched fist, decorated with many gold rings, down on top of the table.
Suddenly remembering his attendants he crossly signaled for them to leave.
“I have offered a large reward for him, yet my best men return wounded or do not even return at all. What more can be done, Farber? It can’t go on,” Farber paced the floor, his shoes clicking on the marble every step, after a while Dusseau grew impatient and threw a shiny red apple at him. Farber caught it in mid-step.
“I have an idea.”
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“Farber will certainly be missing his supply wagon,” a tall figure clothed in black said, laughing. About twenty-five men dressed in dirty clothes appeared from behind and they all guffawed.
“Well done Derrick, I must say, the Black Bandit goes to just the right places in just the right time and we come home with full bellies and purses filled with gold,” Said Dave, a ruddy faced man as he came up and slapped Derrick on the back. Derrick smiled at his friend and raked his fingers through his short brown hair.
“Friends,” Derrick started, and everyone grew silent, “We have raided the Chief Men-at-Arm’s supply wagon, and we are no longer hungry!” They shouted in agreement. The Black Bandit continued,
“But our clothes are worn and stained, what should we do?”
“Buy some new ones!” They shouted.
“But we are scraping the bottom of our purses,” stated the Black Bandit. The men grumbled that that was true.
“What should we do?” Asked the Black Bandit.
“Get some women!” A man shouted, but realizing that that was not what The Black Bandit had meant, turned crimson. A confused silence reigned.
“Rob the rich!” Shouted the Black Bandit, and all of his comrades hollered in agreement.
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Derrick watched from his seat in the large branch overhanging the road. His target, a polished black coach escorted by four men-at-arms, was coming closer. He weighed the odds of it being a trap. If he suddenly decided against it, he could always signal his men to stay hidden and they would let it pass. However, he decided to keep to the plan. It was about ten yards ahead when he motioned for his six eager men to be silent. Seconds later Derrick dropped as noiselessly and agile as a cat on the top as it passed underneath. He carefully made his way to where the driver, who was whistling Yankee Doodle off key, was sitting, and quietly creeping forward, knocked him out with the butt of his pistol.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Derrick whispered the unconscious driver as he took the reins and halted the horses. The four men-at-arms that were marching beside the coach gave a cry of alarm and started to draw their swords, when Derrick’s men, who had been hiding in the woods, quickly rushed out and disarmed them. Derrick heard an ear-piercing scream and then a yell of pain come from the coach. Turning around he strode to the door of the coach to find Ruben, one of his bolder men, clutching his hand with a look of astonishment. Inside the coach was a trembling woman dressed lavishly, with her dull brown hair twisted into a high bun above her plump neck. Beside her sat a pretty servant, simply dressed, with her black hair modestly pulled back. Derrick looked closely into each of their eyes.
“She bit me!” Ruben cried, who had just found his tongue again.
“Which one?” Derrick asked. Ruben pointed with his well hand to the plump lady.
“Madame, if you’d be so kind,” Derrick took her hand and kissed it, meanwhile deftly stripping her chubby hand of the glittering, jeweled rings.
“Could you, perhaps, point me in the direction of any gold lying around here?” He asked, the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. The lady frowned and nodded to her servant who produced a small leather pouch with gold coins jingling inside. Derrick opened the bag and emptied the contents. It was barely enough to fill his hand. Arching an eyebrow he turned to the two women.
“This is barely enough to be guarded by four men-at-arms, who are you?” The lady wrung her handkerchief nervously. Nodding toward her pretty servant, she said,
“T-This is Myra, s-she is mute, and I a-am Anne Dusseau.” Derrick took a step back in surprise.
“Are you the daughter of Simon Dusseau, Chief Men-at-arms?”
She nodded, fretfully wringing her handkerchief.
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Chapter II
After hearing the news, Dusseau sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands, groaning.
“My daughter,” he muttered, “kidnapped by the Black Bandit. She’s being held for ransom!”
The driver that had been knocked out had regained consciousness and reported the news, for a sum, of course. The way he remembered it, the Black Bandit had been alone and had dragged the two women from the coach, after single-handedly taking out the four men-at-arms. The Black Bandit had scribbled a note, which was to be given to Dusseau. The Black Bandit had stuck it into the unconscious driver’s hand.
Dusseau opened it and written on it was this,
I have kidnapped your daughter and her servant.
They are being held for the ransom of five thousand
pounds. I give you a weeks to acquire the money
from your funds.
The Black Bandit
“I hope this has taught you a lesson.” Dusseau looked up and glared at Farber who was popping a grape carelessly into his mouth.
“You knew!” Dusseau shouted, hurling a goblet half filled with wine at him. Farber ducked and the goblet landed in a puddle of its red wine with a clatter.
“Of course I knew. By placing your beloved daughter in a coach surrounded by men-at-arms you initiated the Black Bandit’s curiosity. Maybe now…you’ve renewed your old hatred for the Black Bandit.” Farber dodged a flying plate, but he knew that Dusseau would do whatever it took to bring back his daughter.
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“Mind if I join you?” Dave asked as he sat down beside Derrick.
“Seems you already have,” Derrick answered, as he gazed up at the stars.
“What did you see?”
“See?” asked Derrick.
“In their eyes, I don’t know how you do it but I know you can tell just about anything from looking into a persons eyes. Look into mine,” Derrick looked for a moment in Dave’s green eyes.
“You’re honest--” Derrick said thoughtfully, and added with a soft chuckle “most of the time,” Derrick looked away.
Dave whistled, “I knew it, what did you see in their eyes?” Derrick ran his fingers through his hair.
“Well,” he began slowly, staring off into a distance, “In Anne Dusseau’s eyes, I saw fear. That’s all.”
“What about Myra,” prodded Dave, “She’s a pretty little thing, shame she’s a mute.” Derrick sighed.
“I don’t know,” he said shaking his head slowly.
“Ah-come on, you got to have seen something,” Dave prompted.
“Well,” he said hesitantly, “I saw…courage and intelligence…and…that’s it.”
“So…” said Dave, “What’s wrong with that?”
“Hmm…I don’t know, but something just doesn’t seem fit.” Derrick got up and walked along the creek bed alone, every once in a while tossing in a pebble that hit the water with a, plink, before sinking to the bottom. Dave shook his head in wonder.
“I’ll never understand The Black Bandit…what’s wrong with courage and intelligence?” mumbled Dave as he stretched out in his blanket under the enormous sea of twinkling stars.
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“Myra, bring me another blanket,” called Anne Dusseau as she tried to get in a comfortable position on the hard ground inside the tent. Myra pulled back a lock of her long black hair and searched for another blanket. There was none. She cautiously stepped out of the tent. There was no guard, except for a man who walk back and forth at the edge of their encampment. She suddenly understood why they were allowed to walk around, because neither woman knew their way in these woods. To the left of her were about twenty snoring men and she definitely didn’t want to wake them up so she started back to the tent when a voice behind her said,
“Is there something you need?” She started slightly at the sound of The Black Bandit’s voice. Turning around she nodded and motioned she was cold.
“A blanket?” He guessed. She nodded again.
“Stay here,” He soon returned with a blanket, probably one of his own, and handed it to her. She offered a small guarded smile to her captor. He quickly turned away and walked off. Myra returned to the tent and handed the blanket to Anne.
“Thank you, Myra. Goodness, I do not like being held for ransom at all. It is certainly not pleasant, I’d much rather be in my nice warm bed. Good night, Myra.” Myra knew that the carefree way Anne talked was just a mask behind her fear. But she just nodded goodnight and huddled in her blanket, letting a few salty tears slip silently down her cheeks…
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Chapter III
Derrick pulled the thin blanket closer around him. When he had wrote the letter a week seemed like a fine time, now he regretted it, a week was too long. He wondered why he ever gave Myra one of his blankets. When she had smiled at him he had had to turn away to hide the grin that enveloped his face. It annoyed him that he was so sensitive. After all, he reasoned, I’m a thief; I rob the rich and kidnap women for ransom. But then the little voice inside of him reminded him that he had given them the only tent for privacy. He quietly cursed.
Trying to think of something else his mind wandered back to the puzzling situation of Myra. How can a mute be intelligent? There was also the matter of the something else he had seen in her large, brown, almond-shaped eyes. Secrets. He couldn’t understand it. Derrick finally drifted into a light slumber.
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Simon Dusseau sleepily rubbed his eyes and yawned. He called in a drowsy slave who replaced the candle that had sputtered out. Taking a gulp of icy cold water he felt a little better. After carefully studying several pieces of paper he laid them all down angrily, tonight he felt his age.
“I’m ruined; I could never pay the ransom. My hopes, my dreams, my happiness…all ruined by The Black Bandit,” He muttered. A banging on the door startled him so much that he spilled a little water on himself.
“Come in!” He shouted angrily. Immediately the banging stopped and the door opened, Farber appeared.
“How anyone has enough energy to produce that much racket is beyond me,” Dusseau muttered. Farber ignored Dusseau’s comment.
“How is it that such an old man as yourself can stay up this late? Why, you must have been up all night,” Farber said with feigned concern, and meaning heavy on each word.
“How did you know that?” Dusseau demanded.
“You might have guessed by the weighty purse your slave outside wears,” Suddenly in Dusseau’s mind things began to make sense.
“I shall have your tongue cut out!” Dusseau cried, “For pretending to be a friend while planting spies around me! And for letting me send my daughter to her kidnapping without opening your mouth!”
“Oh…” said Farber with false mournfulness in his voice, “I’m so sorry for your personal loss. I know the only reason you care anything about your daughter is because you planned on forcing her to wed an extremely rich man, now with her kidnapped, I suppose your purse is completely empty.”
“You fiend! You swine!” Dusseau tried to thrust the candle at him but Farber laughed and easily twisted it from him, sending the silver candlestick clattering to the floor. The slave outside heard it, but as Farber said, the weight of his purse prevented him from calling for help.
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Derrick his face sleepily,
“W-What happened?” he asked, yawning.
“Dusseau! Dusseau has been murdered!” Dave shouted. Derrick looked into David’s eyes. There was truth.
“When? And by whom?” Derrick asked sharply.
“Yesterday. T’was his son, Robert Dusseau. A man called Farber-” Dave interrupted his story, “-You know him?” Derrick nodded quickly.
“A man called Farber, came in the room and said he found Dusseau’s son with a knife in his hand, Farber says he had just stabbed his father to death. Says he knocked Robert out and called for help.”
“Get a group of five of the best men,” Derrick said calmly to Dave whose chin just about reached the ground.
“Hurry!” Derrick urged. Dave recovered his senses and dashed off to get the men. Derrick rubbed his forehead in thought. This was not going to be easy, and he knew it.
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Chapter IV
Robert Dusseau shivered. He cursed Farber under his breath. Robert studied his surrounding. Four stonewalls surrounded him, the door was stone and inescapable; the floor was made of large flat stones put together, with dried mud filling the cracks. There was no way of escaping. He thought about his dead father and kidnapped sister. Robert covered his face with his hands and moaned. Suddenly he heard the faintest scuffing sound underneath him. Inching closer to the spot he put his ear to the cold flat stone. Sure enough whatever was making the noise was rapidly coming closer. Without warning the large stone was lifted up and Robert backed away. Through the crack he saw a pair of glittering eyes.
The stone slab was gently and slowly pushed to the side. Stone grated on stone, producing a low rasping noise. Slowly a brown mob of hair emerged and finally a face streaked with soil. It motioned for Robert to be quiet and to follow it down the hole. Robert quickly complied, for he knew it meant escape from the cell, even if only to be led into capture by his silent rescuer. Amazingly he found that the tunnel had stonewalls, which meant it had been built at the same time as castle.
He marveled that he no knowledge of this secret passageway, wondering where it led to and how many other secret tunnels were in the castle. Just moments before he thought he would drop dead he crawled out into blinding sunlight. After standing up and dusting himself off he looked around himself. He was in a forest, and there were about six men, one of which he recognized as the Black Bandit, surrounding him.
“Hello Robert Dusseau,” The Black Bandit said. Although the Black Bandit extended no handshake, his eyes had a certain kindness in them, much unlike Robert thought a brutal criminal’s eyes should look. Robert was not sure whether to rush at the Black Bandit in anger for kidnapping his sister or to shake hands with him for rescuing him. So he decided on an indifferent hello.
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Myra fingered the pebble with care, pushing her thumb up and down the smooth top thoughtfully until it grew warm. Questions inside her were unanswered. Why did Derrick rush away with five men? What was all the whispering among the men about? And many other questions…questions she could not ask.
To calm the turmoil tumbling inside of her she walked along the riverbed until she came to a very large stone. Looking closely she noticed a small green lizard, its body a little bigger than her thumb. Gently picking it up, she watched its tiny throat move ever so slightly, inhaling and exhaling. She carefully laid it in the palm of her hand and made her way toward camp, every once in a while checking to make sure it was still there, but the lizard seemed very content to sit and every once in a while turn his head and glance at some quickly passing object. Cautiously she set it on a rock near the edge of encampment and said silently watched it swiftly crawl into some underbrush. Engrossed in watching the small amphibians movements she did not notice that Derrick and his men had returned, with a young man.
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Derrick watched closely the expression on Robert’s face as Anne came out of the tent to see her brother. Robert barely looked up from the bowl of stew he was inhaling as Anne watched him with a look of disgust at his lack of manners.
“You know, brother, I’ve had a hard time here,” Anne said airily, tucking back an imaginary strand of her dull brown hair. Robert looked up at her with a look of bewilderment, then one of disgust, and ignoring her, continued gulping down the stew.
Anne sighed, and then went back into the tent. Robert had finally finished his soup. By now he was exhausted. No time for questions, thought Derrick, disappointed.
“You can sleep anywhere on the ground,” Derrick said, holding the blanket for Robert to take it.
“Where is my sis-” Blurted Robert, but suddenly thinking better of it, clamped his mouth shut and guardedly took the blanket. Derrick smiled inwardly.
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Chapter V
The moonlight played bewitchingly over the silvery river, and Derrick sat silently on his favorite log, mulling over all of his troubles. One of his dilemmas was the death of Simon Dusseau. Dusseau had two sons, the eldest, Jerald Dusseau, just returned from a long trip a few hours after they had secreted Robert away from the dungeon cell. Jerald would surely pay the ransom for Robert, Anne, and Myra at the appropriate time, which was only one week away. Derrick carved a knot off the log with his dagger, and he started whittling as he thought.
Then he thought about Myra…she was very pretty. And a mute, he severely reminded himself. Still…though mute her charms would melt any mans heart if she wished. Which is why you must be careful, he told himself. Lately they had actually communicated. Him by speaking, her by writing. The captive and captor relationship had completely disappeared almost the moment they had started to communicate. She was beautiful but her strongest attraction was inward beauty. She was gentle, compassionate, graceful, and incredibly beautiful.
Shaking thoughts of Myra from his head he couldn’t believe he had thought that far into the future. Marriage to a mute? Her muteness didn’t bother him that much but the fact that if she was to marry him, would she live the life of an outlaw? In a camp full of rough men? Absolutely not. If he loved her at all he would conceal his emotions. It would be better for both of them.
Dave came and sat down beside him.
“What are you thinking about?” Dave asked.
“Anne and her brother, Robert.”
“What about them?”
“The way he responded when he saw her, it didn’t seem very warm.” Dave shrugged his shoulders.
“Maybe they quarrel.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Probably didn’t like the way she put on airs.” But the Blank Bandit shook his head thoughtfully.
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“My brother did not kill my father!” Shouted Jerald Dusseau.
“While you were gone they quarreled terribly, perhaps at point of weakness…” Farber’s deceiving voice trailed off.
“No. Robert did not kill him. Since I am the eldest son, I shall inherit all my father owns…I wish to examine his private papers.” Jerald Dusseau stated firmly, instantly changing the subject. Jerald was a handsome man, nearly as handsome as the Black Bandit himself and was dressed royally with a crown of blonde hair.
“Of course you shall,” Farber nodded quickly to a servant, who rushed off,
“Jerald, I must tell you, you father was not at all as rich as people expected, as a matter of fact, he spent nearly all of the funds he was saving…in knowledge that your sister, Anne Dusseau, would marry Carle Peraldi, a foreign, but enormously wealthy man. I’m afraid that he has not five thousand pounds to pay the ransom.” Jerald did not look very concerned.
“I did not return from my travels empty handed...I can pay three thousand of it.”
“But...who shall pay the rest?” asked Farber innocently.
“I...I wonder if you might have two thousand pounds? I will pay it back within the year.” Jerald’s eyes bore into Farber’s. Glancing down Farber began to pace casually.
“I could perhaps...but for a fee. You have something I want.” Farbers eyes grew intense,
“What would that be?”
“Marriage,”
“To whom?”
“Your sister,”
“Absoloughtly not,” Jerald responded coolly,
“Then I cannot help you,” Farber said, gritting his teeth to prevent several nasty words from slipping out. Jerald sighed.
“Then I shall find someone else to loan me the three thousand, perhaps his old comrade Berume.”
“I’m afraid not, he and Berume have quarreled recently and it left a scar not easily healed.”
“What about Ushaal?”
“Ushaal cheated Dusseau out of some cattle, the ordeal ended up in a duel between sons, Robert won and Ushaal’s son, Tikkan, was disgraced, no chance he’ll lend you money.”
“Defane?”
“Away fighting,”
“Fellad?”
“Killed in battle,” Farber said, his eyes shining with triumph. Jerald sighed.
“There must be something else you want...land...gold? I could pay you much more than you loaned me,” Farbers eyes light up for a moment with the mention of wealth...then darkened with determination.
“No, it is marriage to your sister I want more than anything else,” Farber said stubbornly.
“I will not allow it!” Jerald yelled in desperation, storming out of the room.
“Oh, yes you will,” Farber muttered under his breath.
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Licking his lips at the delicious slab of meat before him, Ruben quickly sat down and reached for it. His hand was smacked with a large wooden spoon. Quickly withdrawing his hand he looked up and saw Anne with her fat white hands on her hips. Ruben’s eyes grew dark with fury.
“You’ll get no food till the rest of the savages have eaten. In the meantime, you can fetch me some water,” Anne said haughtily. Ruben was just about to lunge for her when out of the corner of his eye he saw the Black Bandit emerge from behind a tree. He was watching. Ruben grabbed the bucket from her hands and stumbled hastily down the hill to the river. As he was rounding the bend he heard the sweetest soprano voice he had ever heard. It was singing very softly, reminding him of honey dripping from honeycomb. A fat raindrop splattered on his shoulder. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered, so long as he could hear the beautiful sounds that couldn’t possibly be coming from a human being. Stepping very quietly he peeked from around the tree. There in the river stood Myra, fully clothed. His eyes widened.
“She’s not a mute!” he exclaimed quietly. Quickly retracing his steps he ran back to camp. He found the Black Bandit near the edge of camp, he was whittling, protected from the rain by great majestic trees.
“Ruben! What’s the matter?” Derrick asked, slightly alarmed at the way Ruben was panting.
“Come quickly…” gasped Ruben, “There’s something you’ll want to see, or should I say, hear.”
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Chapter VI
Derrick ran quickly back with Ruben, by the time he reached the river he was soaked.
“What is it? I demand an explanation for making me run all the way here in the rain!” Derrick asked impatiently. Ruben put his finger to his lips and motioned Derrick to look toward the river. Myra was standing waist deep, fully clothed, in the river, her back towards them. The wind whipped her long black hair in all directions, water streaming down her open palms that were held to the heavens. Very faintly, he heard her soft voice singing lowly, the wind carrying the words father then she knew. At first he couldn’t make out the words, and then he realized she was singing in a different language. It was a slow, mournful, but intriguing song. Derrick’s breath caught in his throat. Never was she more beautiful than now.
Dark clouds gathered overhead, rumbling, and lighting lashed out. Her trance was broken. She dove swiftly under the water, like a large fish. A few yards closer to shore she emerged from the angry water. Her hair and clothes were clinging to her skin as she waded to shore. As she reached it, Ruben pulled Derrick back into the camouflage of the trees.
“What do you think?” Ruben asked, his eyes filled with self-importance at discovering this secret.
“She’s beautiful…” Derrick said breathlessly. Ruben’s eyes widened with annoyance.
“No, about her voice!” Ruben said. Derrick shook his head quickly, as if clearing away unwanted thoughts.
“She’s not a mute!” He said numbly, he hadn’t even realized she had been singing. It had seemed like a dream, the beautiful sound emerging from her very being, her very soul. There was no way around it. He was in love. Ruben interrupted his thoughts,
“There’s something I can’t figure out.” Ruben said, scratching his head as they walked back to camp.
“What’s that?” asked Derrick absent-mindedly.
“That woman’s voice didn’t seem at all like a servant’s ought to. It had an edge of refinement. ‘Sides, not many servants know how to speak in a different language.” Derrick snapped his fingers.
“I’ve got it!” Derrick headed towards a shortcut with Ruben right at his heels.
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Myra wrapped her arms around herself to stop herself from shaking. She stopped every once in a while to wring out her dress and hair. While she walked she thought about Derrick. At first she had been careful around him, but soon she felt strangely at ease. Whenever she was around him she would go weak in the knees. She knew she was denying the attraction. His curly brown hair, sharp blue eyes…
She caught herself thinking about him. He kidnapped me, she reminded herself. But the truth was, she felt as though he had saved her. Taken her away from the bustle of the market and brought her to…to the serene woods. She was in love. And she knew it. Of all the silliest things, she told herself, you choose to fall in love with an outlaw.
Now she was at the edge of camp. She combed her fingers through her hair and straightened her dress before going into the tent.
“Hello Myra Dusseau,” Myra whirled around to face the speaker. It was Derrick. Also in the room was Anne, whose face was white.
“He knows,” she whispered.
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Anne wrung her kerchief nervously. How did he find out? She wondered. The plan had been…so perfect. It was not exactly an uncommon thing for wealthy women to switch identities with her servant during travel, for safety. Returning from her thoughts she saw that Myra was wet and trembling. Anne rushed off to get a blanket, returning now to her real identity, and remembering her duties as a servant.
“How did you find out?” Myra was asking when Anne returned with the blanket.
“There were several things. The first, I heard you singing.” Derrick said hesitantly. He did not like the fact that she knew he had spied on her. The shock clearly showed on Myra’s face. Anne handed her the blanket.
“Thank you Anne,” Myra said softly. Anne nodded.
“Also, I realized that not many servants know two languages, and not many wealthy women know how to cook,” he continued, glancing at Anne. There was a moment of silence before Myra spoke.
“You may as well know that my father can never pay the ransom. He wasted his money and then arranged an engagement between a foreign lord, Carle Peraldi and me. I was traveling to meet my wealthy fiancé, for the first time, when we…met.” Derrick was greatly disappointed when he heard of her engagement, but tried not to show it.
“Now there is something I must tell you. Your father…died.” Myra did not go into hysterics as he thought most ladies would but instead turned white. Somewhat encourages, he continued uncertainly,
“That is why your brother is here. He was accused of murdering him. By a man named Farber. A man I know very well.” Derrick said with a far away look on his face.
“Anyway, I know he didn’t kill him so I, in a sense, kidnapped him from death.”
“Thank you…Derrick.” Derrick almost jumped when she said his name. It was the first time she had ever done so. He liked it.
“Your welcome. At the time though, I thought he was Anne’s brother. That would explain the cold shoulder he gave Anne. I suppose he wasn’t used to having a servant address him as ‘brother’.”
“No, I wasn’t.” admitted Robert, who had just come in, sheepishly. Anne turned to look at him. When she looked back Myra had fainted, and Derrick had caught her.
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Chapter VII
Very carefully and quietly he laid Myra on the blanket. Taking another blanket he carefully laid it over her. Derrick sat back on his heels and studied the job. She would be comfortable. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay and watch her forever. He gently tucked a tress of her hair that had fallen loose behind her ear. There was no way she could stay here. She was engaged. Engagements can be broken, a small voice inside of him said. And then what? He asked himself scornfully. I’ll force her to marry me? She is the daughter of Dusseau.
“Do you love her?” asked Anne, who had tiptoed in and observed the passion in his eyes. Derrick looked over his shoulder at her.
“Yes,” he said huskily, emotions nearly choking him.
“Did you ever tell her?” questioned Anne seriously.
“No,” he said. Anne tsked.
“You should,” she said boldly, knowing that she had overstepped her boundaries as a servant. All her life she had been cowered in fear, but she right now she wasn’t afraid to say what she thought. They were made for each other.
“She’s engaged,” he said lamely.
“She’s never even met him! He’s probably old enough to be her father!” Anne huffed. Derrick gritted his teeth.
“She’s the daughter of Dusseau,”
“Oh yes, and I’m the daughter of a blacksmith, does that mean you shouldn’t marry me?” Asked Anne, not quite getting the point.
“You don’t understand,”
“Oh I don’t understand?” Anne’s fervor was making her red in the face. Derrick decided arguing with her was not the best idea, and started to walk away.
“I understand perfectly,” she shouted after him, “that you’re as blind as a bat if you can’t see how her eyes light up when you’re around.” Derrick stopped in mid-step. He turned around slowly.
“What did you say?” Anne tucked a strand of hair that had gotten out of place. Finally, she thought, I’ve gotten through to the man.
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