No other bride can be found for Hugh d'Argent.

He will have his own betrothed, or none." Still kneeling, the Prioress threw back her head, looking upward, with clasped hands.
"Reverend Father," she said, "I will not go to the man I love, trailing broken vows, like chains, behind me.

There could be no harmony in life's music.

Whene'er I moved, where'er I trod, I should hear the constant clanking of those chains.

No man can set me free from vows made to God.