"Hercules, do I call him?
Adonis rather." "Why not Bacchus ?" Claude muttered, his eyes on his plate.

In spite of the strongest resolutions, he could not keep silence.
"Bacchus?
And why, boy ?" frowning darkly.
"He were better bestowed on a tun of wine," the youth retorted, without looking up.
"That you might take his place, I suppose ?" Basterga retorted swiftly.
"What say you, girl?
Will you have him ?" And when she did not answer, "Bread, do you hear ?" he cried harshly and imperiously.

"Bread, I say!" And having forced her to come within reach to serve him, "What do you say to it ?" he continued, his hand on the trencher, his eyes on her face.

"Answer me, girl, will you have him ?" She did not answer, but that which he had quite falsely attributed to her before, a blush, slowly and painfully darkened her cheeks and neck.
He seized her brutally by the chin, and forced her to raise her face.
"Blushing, I see ?" he continued.

"Blushing, blushing, eh?
So it is for him you thrill, and lie awake, and dream of kisses, is it?
For this new youth and not for Grio?
Nay, struggle not! Wrest not yourself away! Let Grio, too, see you!" Claude, his back to the scene, drove his nails into the palms of his hands.