He spent the night at least better than did Dom Galors, whose thoughts
turned equally to Spurnt Heath. That strenuous man had taken the
Abbot's counsel to bed with him, a restless partner. An inordinate
partner also it proved to be, not content to keep the monk awake.
Turning every traffic of his mind to its own advantage, it shook out
the bright pinions of adventure over the dim corridors of Holy Thorn,
and with every pulse of the ordering bell came a reiteration of its
urgency. All night long, through all the task work of the next
morning, the thought was with him--"By means of this woman I may be
free. Free!" he cried. "I may be set up on high through her. Lord of
this land and patron of Holy Thorn; a maker and unmaker of abbots to
whom now I must bow my knees. Is it nothing to be master of a lovely
wife? Ha, is it nothing to rule a broad fee? A small thing to have
abbots kiss my hands? Lord of the earth! is this not worth a broken
vow, which in any case I have broken before? Oh, Isoult la Desirous,
if I desired you before when you went torn and shamefaced through the
mire, what shall I say to you going in silk, in a litter, with a
crown, Isoult la Desiree!" He called her name over and over, Isoult la
Desiree, la Moult-Desiree, and felt his head spinning.

Matins, Lauds, and Prime, he endured this obsession. The day's round
was filled with the amazing image of a crowned, hollow-eyed, tattered
little drab, the mock and wonder of throngs of witnesses, appreciable
only by himself as a pearl of priceless value. The heiress of
Morgraunt, the young Countess of Hauterive, La Desirous, La Desiree.
Desirable she had been before, but dealing no smarter scald than could
be drowned in the well of love which for him she might have been for
an hour. But now his burn glowed; the Abbot had blown it red. Ambition
was alight; he was the brazier. It danced in him like a leaping flame.
Certainly Prosper slept better on his side of Spurnt Heath.