shrivelin
the
grasp
of
the
passions
that
woo
them
.
The
day
was
a
busy
one
,
and
brought
in
good
profit
.
Bébée
had
no
less
than
fifty
sous
in
her
leather
pouch
when
it
was
over
,
—
a
sum
of
magnitude
in
the
green
lane
by
Laeken
.
A
few
of
her
moss-roses
were
still
unsold
,
that
was
all
,
when
the
Ave
Maria
began
ringing
over
the
town
and
the
people
dispersed
to
their
homes
or
their
pleasuring
.
It
was
a
warm
gray
evening
:
the
streets
were
full
;
there
were
blossoms
in
all
the
balconies
,
and
gay
colors
in
all
the
dresses
.
The
old
tinker
put
his
tools
together
,
and
whispered
to
her
,
—
"
Bébée
,
as
it
is
your
feast
day
,
come
and
stroll
in
St.
Hubert
's
gallery
,
and
I
will
buy
you
a
little
gilt
heart
,
or
a
sugar-apple
stick
,
or
a
ribbon
,
and
we
can
see
the
puppet
show
afterwards
,
eh
?
"
But
the
children
were
waiting
at
home
:
she
would
not
spend
the
evening
in
the
city
;
she
only
thought
she
would
just
kneel
a
moment
in
the
cathedral
and
say
a
little
prayer
or
two
for
a
minute
—
the
saints
were
so
good
in
giving
her
so
many
friends
.
There
is
something
very
touching
in
the
Flemish
peasant
's
relation
with
his
Deity
.
It
is
all
very
vague
to
him
:
a
jumble
of
veneration
and
familiarity
,
of
sanctity
and
profanity
,
without
any
thought
of
being
familiar
,
or
any
idea
of
being
profane
.
There
is
a
homely
poetry
,
an
innocent
affectionateness
in
it
,
characteristic
of
the
people
.
He
talks
to
his
good
angel
Michael
,
and
to
his
friend
that
dear
little
Jesus
,
much
as
he
would
talk
to
the
shoemaker
over
the
way
,
or
the
cooper
's
child
in
the
doorway
.
It
is
a
very
unreasonable
,
foolish
,
clumsy
sort
of
religion
,
this
theology
in
wooden
shoes
;
it
is
half
grotesque
,
half
pathetic
;
the
grandmothers
pass
it
on
to
the
grandchildren
as
they
pass
the
bowl
of
potatoes
round
the
stove
in
the
long
winter
nights
;
it
is
as
silly
as
possible
,
but
it
comforts
them
as
they
carry
fagots
over
the
frozen
canals
or
wear
their
eyes
blind
over
the
squares
of
lace
;
and
it
has
in
it
the
supreme
pathos
of
any
perfect
confidence
,
of
any
utterly
childlike
and
undoubting
trust
.
This
had
been
taught
to
Bébée
,
and
she
went
to
sleep
every
night
in
the
firm
belief
that
the
sixteen
little
angels
of
the
Flemish
prayer
kept
watch
and
ward
over
her
bed
.
For
the
rest
,
being
poetical
,
as
these
north
folks
are
not
,
and
having
in
her
—
wherever
it
came
from
,
poor
little
soul
—
a
warmth
of
fancy
and
a
spirituality
of
vision
not
at
all
northern
,
she
had
mixed
up
her
religion
with
the
fairies
of
Antoine
's
stories
,
and
the
demons
in
which
the
Flemish
folks
are
profound
believers
,
and
the
flowers
into
which
she
put
all
manner
of
sentient
life
,
until
her
religion
was
a
fantastic
medley
,
so
entangled
that
poor
Father
Francis
had
given
up
in
despair
any
attempt
to
arrange
it
more
correctly
.
Indeed
,
being
of
the
peasantry
himself
,
he
was
not
so
very
full
sure
in
his
own
mind
that
demons
were
not
bodily
presences
,
quite
as
real
and
often
much
more
tangible
than
saints
.
Anyway
,
he
let
her
alone
;
and
she
believed
in
the
goodness
of
God
as
she
believed
in
the
shining
of
the
sun
.
People
looked
after
her
as
she
went
through
the
twisting
,
picture-like
streets
,
where
sunlight
fell
still
between
the
peaked
high
roofs
,
and
lamps
were
here
and
there
lit
in
the
bric-à-brac
shops
and
the
fruit
stalls
.
Her
little
muslin
cap
blew
back
like
the
wings
of
a
white
butterfly
.
Her
sunny
hair
caught
the
last
sun-rays
.
Her
feet
were
fair
in
the
brown
wooden
shoes
.
Under
the
short
woollen
skirts
the
grace
of
her
pretty
limbs
moved
freely
.
Her
broad
silver
clasps
shone
like
a
shield
,
and
she
was
utterly
unconscious
that
any
one
looked
;
she
was
simply
and
gravely
intent
on
reaching
St.
Gudule
to
say
her
one
prayer
and
not
keep
the
children
waiting
.
Some
one
leaning
idly
over
a
balcony
in
the
street
that
is
named
after
Mary
of
Burgundy
saw
her
going
thus
.
He
left
the
balcony
and
went
down
his
stairs
and
followed
her
.
The
sun-dazzle
on
the
silver
had
first
caught
his
sight
;
and
then
he
had
looked
downward
at
the
pretty
feet
.
These
are
the
chances
women
call
Fate
.
Bébée
entered
the
cathedral
.
It
was
quite
empty
.
Far
away
at
the
west
end
there
was
an
old
custodian
asleep
on
a
bench
,
and
a
woman
kneeling
.
That
was
all
.
Bébée
made
her
salutations
to
the
high
altar
,
and
stole
on
into
the
chapel
of
the
Saint
Sacrament
;
it
was
the
one
that
she
loved
best
.
She
said
her
prayer
and
thanked
the
saints
for
all
their
gifts
and
goodness
,
her
clasped
hand
against
her
silver
shield
,
her
basket
on
the
pavement
by
her
,
abovehead
the
sunset
rays
streaming
purple
and
crimson
and
golden
through
the
painted
windows
that
are
the
wonder
of
the
world
.
When
her
prayer
was
done
she
still
kneeled
there
;
her
head
thrown
back
to
watch
the
light
,
her
hands
clasped
still
,
and
on
her
upturned
face
the
look
that
made
the
people
say
,
"
What
does
she
see
?
—
the
angels
or
the
dead
?
"
She
forgot
everything
.
She
forgot
the
cherries
at
home
,
and
the
children
even
.
She
was
looking
upward
at
the
stories
of
the
painted
panes
;
she
was
listening
to
the
message
of
the
dying
sun-rays
;
she
was
feeling
vaguely
,
wistfully
,
unutterably
the
tender
beauty
of
the
sacred
place
and
the
awful
wonder
of
the
world
in
which
she
with
her
sixteen
years
was
all
alone
,
like
a
little
blue
corn-flower
among
the
wheat
that
goes
for
grist
and
the
barley
that
makes
men
drunk
.
For
she
was
alone
,
though
she
had
so
many
friends
.
Quite
alone
sometimes
;
for
God
had
been
cruel
to
her
,
and
had
made
her
a
lark
without
song
.
When
the
sun
faded
and
the
beautiful
casements
lost
all
glow
and
meaning
,
Bébée
rose
with
a
startled
look
—
had
she
been
dreaming
?
—
was
it
night
?
—
would
the
children
be
sorry
,
and
go
supperless
to
bed
?
"
Have
you
a
rosebud
left
to
sell
to
me
?
"
a
man
's
voice
said
not
far
off
;
it
was
low
and
sweet
,
as
became
the
Sacrament
Chapel
.
Bébée
looked
up
;
she
did
not
quite
know
what
she
saw
:
only
dark
eyes
smiling
into
hers
.
By
the
instinct
of
habit
she
sought
in
her
basket
and
found
three
moss-roses
.
She
held
them
out
to
him
.
"
I
do
not
sell
flowers
here
,
but
I
will
give
them
to
you
,
"
she
said
,
in
her
pretty
grave
childish
fashion
.
"
I
often
want
flowers
,
"
said
the
stranger
,
as
he
took
the
buds
.
"
Where
do
you
sell
yours
?
—
in
the
market
?
"
"
In
the
Grande
Place
.
"
"
Will
you
tell
me
your
name
,
pretty
one
?
"
"
I
am
Bébée
.
"
There
were
people
coming
into
the
church
.
The
bells
were
booming
abovehead
for
vespers
.
There
was
a
shuffle
of
chairs
and
a
stir
of
feet
.
Boys
in
white
went
to
and
fro
,
lighting
the
candles
.
Great
clouds
of
shadow
drifted
up
into
the
roof
and
hid
the
angels
.
She
nodded
her
little
head
to
him
.
"
Good
night
;
I
cannot
stay
.
I
have
a
cake
at
home
to-night
,
and
the
children
are
waiting
.
"
"
Ah
!
that
is
important
,
no
doubt
,
indeed
.
Will
you
buy
some
more
cakes
for
the
children
from
me
?
"
He
slid
a
gold
piece
in
her
hand
.
She
looked
at
it
in
amaze
.
In
the
green
lanes
by
Laeken
no
one
ever
saw
gold
.
Then
she
gave
it
him
back
.
"
I
will
not
take
money
in
church
,
nor
anywhere
,
except
what
the
flowers
are
worth
.
Good
night
.
"
He
followed
her
,
and
held
back
the
heavy
oak
door
for
her
,
and
went
out
into
the
air
with
her
.
It
was
dark
already
,
but
in
the
square
there
was
still
the
cool
bright
primrose-colored
evening
light
.
Bébée
's
wooden
shoes
went
pattering
down
the
sloping
and
uneven
stones
.
Her
little
gray
figure
ran
quickly
through
the
deep
shade
cast
from
the
towers
and
walls
.
Her
dreams
had
drifted
away
.
She
was
thinking
of
the
children
and
the
cake
.
"
You
are
in
such
a
hurry
because
of
the
cake
?
"
said
her
new
customer
,
as
he
followed
her
.
Bébée
looked
back
at
him
with
a
smile
in
her
blue
eyes
.
"
Yes
,
they
will
be
waiting
,
you
know
,
and
there
are
cherries
too
.
"
"
It
is
a
grand
day
with
you
,
then
?
"
"
It
is
my
fête
day
:
I
am
sixteen
.
"
She
was
proud
of
this
.
She
told
it
to
the
very
dogs
in
the
street
.
"
Ah
,
you
feel
old
,
I
dare
say
?
"
"
Oh
,
quite
old
!
They
cannot
call
me
a
child
any
more
.
"
"
Of
course
not
,
it
would
be
ridiculous
.
Are
those
presents
in
your
basket
?
"
"
Yes
,
every
one
of
them
.
"
She
paused
a
moment
to
lift
the
dead
vine-leaves
,
and
show
him
the
beautiful
shining
red
shoes
.
"
Look
!
old
Gringoire
gave
me
these
.
I
shall
wear
them
at
mass
next
Sunday
.
I
never
had
a
pair
of
shoes
in
my
life
.
"
"
But
how
will
you
wear
shoes
without
stockings
?
"
It
was
a
snake
cast
into
her
Eden
.
She
had
never
thought
of
it
.
"
Perhaps
I
can
save
money
and
buy
some
,
"
she
answered
after
a
sad
little
pause
.
"
But
that
I
could
not
do
till
next
year
.
They
would
cost
several
francs
,
I
suppose
.
"
"
Unless
a
good
fairy
gives
them
to
you
?
"
Bébée
smiled
;
fairies
were
real
things
to
her
—
relations
indeed
.
She
did
not
imagine
that
he
spoke
in
jest
.
"
Sometimes
I
pray
very
much
and
things
come
,
"
she
said
softly
.
"
When
the
Gloire
de
Dijon
was
cut
back
too
soon
one
summer
,
and
never
blossomed
,
and
we
all
thought
it
was
dead
,
I
prayed
all
day
long
for
it
,
and
never
thought
of
anything
else
;
and
by
autumn
it
was
all
in
new
leaf
,
and
now
its
flowers
are
finer
than
ever
.
"
"
But
you
watered
it
whilst
you
prayed
,
I
suppose
?
"
The
sarcasm
escaped
her
.
She
was
wondering
to
herself
whether
it
would
be
vain
and
wicked
to
pray
for
a
pair
of
stockings
:
she
thought
she
would
go
and
ask
Father
Francis
.
By
this
time
they
were
in
the
Rue
Royale
,
and
half-way
down
it
.
The
lamps
were
lighted
.
A
regiment
was
marching
up
it
with
a
band
playing
.
The
windows
were
open
,
and
people
were
laughing
and
singing
in
some
of
them
.
The
light
caught
the
white
and
gilded
fronts
of
the
houses
.
The
pleasure-seeking
crowds
loitered
along
in
the
warmth
of
the
evening
.
Bébée
,
suddenly
roused
from
her
thoughts
by
the
loud
challenge
of
the
military
music
,
looked
round
on
the
stranger
,
and
motioned
him
back
.
"
Sir
,
—
I
do
not
know
you
,
—
why
should
you
come
with
me
?
Do
not
do
it
,
please
.
You
make
me
talk
,
and
that
makes
me
late
.
"
And
she
pushed
her
basket
farther
on
her
arm
,
and
nodded
to
him
and
ran
off
—
as
fleetly
as
a
hare
through
fern
—
among
the
press
of
the
people
.
"
To-morrow
,
little
one
,
"
he
answered
her
with
a
careless
smile
,
and
let
her
go
unpursued
.
Above
,
from
the
open
casement
of
a
café
,
some
young
men
and
some
painted
women
leaned
out
,
and
threw
sweetmeats
at
him
,
as
in
carnival
time
.
"
A
new
model
,
—
that
pretty
peasant
?
"
they
asked
him
.
He
laughed
in
answer
,
and
went
up
the
steps
to
join
them
;
he
dropped
the
moss-roses
as
he
went
,
and
trod
on
them
,
and
did
not
wait
.
CHAPTER
IV
Bébée
ran
home
as
fast
as
her
feet
would
take
her
.
The
children
were
all
gathered
about
her
gate
in
the
dusky
dewy
evening
;
they
met
her
with
shouts
of
welcome
and
reproach
intermingled
;
they
had
been
watching
for
her
since
first
the
sun
had
grown
low
and
red
,
and
now
the
moon
was
risen
.
But
they
forgave
her
when
they
saw
the
splendor
of
her
presents
,
and
she
showered
out
among
them
Père
Melchior
's
horn
of
comfits
.
They
dashed
into
the
hut
;
they
dragged
the
one
little
table
out
among
the
flowers
;
the
cherries
and
cake
were
spread
on
it
;
and
the
miller
's
wife
had
given
a
big
jug
of
milk
,
and
Father
Francis
himself
had
sent
some
honeycomb
.
The
early
roses
were
full
of
scent
in
the
dew
;
the
great
gillyflowers
breathed\out
fragrance
in
the
dusk
;
the
goat
came
and
nibbled
the
sweetbrier
unrebuked
;
the
children
repeated
the
Flemish
bread-grace
,
with
clasped
hands
and
reverent
eyes
,
"
Oh
,
dear
little
Jesus
,
come
and
sup
with
us
,
and
bring
your
beautiful
Mother
,
too
;
we
will
not
forget
you
are
God
.
"
Then
,
that
said
,
they
ate
,
and
drank
,
and
laughed
,
and
picked
cherries
from
each
other
's
mouths
like
little
blackbirds
;
the
big
white
dog
gnawed
a
crust
at
their
feet
;
old
Krebs
who
had
a
fiddle
,
and
could
play
it
,
came
out
and
trilled
them
rude
and
ready
Flemish
tunes
,
such
as
Teniers
or
Mieris
might
have
jumped
to
before
an
alehouse
at
the
Kermesse
;
Bébée
and
the
children
joined
hands
,
and
danced
round
together
in
the
broad
white
moonlight
,
on
the
grass
by
the
water-side
;
the
idlers
came
and
sat
about
,
the
women
netting
or
spinning
,
and
the
men
smoking
a
pipe
before
bedtime
;
the
rough
hearty
Flemish
bubbled
like
a
brook
in
gossip
,
or
rung
like
a
horn
over
a
jest
;
Bébée
and
the
children
,
tired
of
their
play
,
grew
quiet
,
and
chanted
together
the
"
Ave
Maria
Stella
Virginis
"
;
a
nightingale
among
the
willows
sang
to
the
sleeping
swans
.
All
was
happy
,
quiet
,
homely
;
lovely
also
in
its
simple
way
.
They
went
early
to
their
beds
,
as
people
must
do
who
rise
at
dawn
.
Bébée
leaned
out
a
moment
from
her
own
little
casement
ere
she
too
went
to
rest
.
Through
an
open
lattice
there
sounded
the
murmur
of
some
little
child
's
prayer
;
the
wind
sighed
among
the
willows
;
the
nightingales
sang
on
in
the
dark
—
all
was
still
.
Hard
work
awaited
her
on
the
morrow
,
and
on
all
the
other
days
of
the
year
.
She
was
only
a
little
peasant
—
she
must
sweep
,
and
spin
,
and
dig
,
and
delve
,
to
get
daily
her
bit
of
black
bread
,
—
but
that
night
she
was
as
happy
as
a
little
princess
in
a
fairy
tale
;
happy
in
her
playmates
,
in
her
flowers
,
in
her
sixteen
years
,
in
her
red
shoes
,
in
her
silver
buckles
,
because
she
was
half
a
woman
;
happy
in
the
dewy
leaves
,
in
the
singing
birds
,
in
the
hush
of
the
night
,
in
the
sense
of
rest
,
in
the
fragrance
of
flowers
,
in
the
drifting
changes
of
moon
and
cloud
;
happy
because
she
was
half
a
woman
,
because
she
was
half
a
poet
,
because
she
was
wholly
a
poet
.
"
Oh
,
dear
swans
,
how
good
it
is
to
be
sixteen
!
—
how
good
it
is
to
live
at
all
!
—
do
you
not
tell
the
willows
so
?
"
said
Bébée
to
the
gleam
of
silver
under
the
dark
leaves
by
the
water
's
side
,
which
showed
her
where
her
friends
were
sleeping
,
with
their
snowy
wings
closed
over
their
stately
heads
,
and
the
veiled
gold
and
ruby
of
their
eyes
.
The
swans
did
not
awake
to
answer
.
Only
the
nightingale
answered
from
the
willows
,
with
Desdemona
's
song
.
But
Bébée
had
never
heard
of
Desdemona
,
and
the
willows
had
no
sigh
for
her
.
"
Good
night
!
"
she
said
,
softly
,
to
all
the
green
dewy
sleeping
world
,
and
then
she
lay
down
and
slept
herself
.
—
The
nightingale
sang
on
,
and
the
willows
trembled
.
CHAPTER
V.
"
If
I
could
save
a
centime
a
day
,
I
could
buy
a
pair
of
stockings
this
time
next
year
,
"
thought
Bébée
,
locking
her
shoes
with
her
other
treasures
in
her
drawer
the
next
morning
,
and
taking
her
broom
and
pail
to
wash
down
her
little
palace
.
But
a
centime
a
day
is
a
great
deal
in
Brabant
,
when
one
has
not
always
enough
for
bare
bread
,
and
when
,
in
the
long
chill
winter
,
one
must
weave
thread
lace
all
through
the
short
daylight
for
next
to
nothing
at
all
;
for
there
are
so
many
women
in
Brabant
,
and
every
one
of
them
,
young
or
old
,
can
make
lace
,
and
if
one
do
not
like
the
pitiful
wage
,
one
may
leave
it
and
go
and
die
,
for
what
the
master
lacemakers
care
or
know
;
there
will
always
be
enough
,
many
more
than
enough
,
to
twist
the
thread
round
the
bobbins
,
and
weave
the
bridal
veils
,
and
the
trains
for
the
courts
.
"
And
besides
,
if
I
can
save
a
centime
,
the
Varnhart
children
ought
to
have
it
,
"
thought
Bébée
,
as
she
swept
the
dust
together
.
It
was
so
selfish
of
her
to
be
dreaming
about
a
pair
of
stockings
,
when
those
little
things
often
went
for
days
on
a
stew
of
nettles
.
So
she
looked
at
her
own
pretty
feet
,
—
pretty
and
slender
,
and
arched
,
rosy
,
and
fair
,
and
uncramped
by
the
pressure
of
leather
,
—
and
resigned
her
day-dream
with
a
brave
heart
,
as
she
put
up
her
broom
and
went
out
to
weed
,
and
hoe
,
and
trim
,
and
prune
the
garden
that
had
been
for
once
neglected
the
night
before
.
"
One
could
not
move
half
so
easily
in
stockings
,
"
she
thought
with
true
philosophy
as
she
worked
among
the
black
,
fresh
,
sweet-smelling
mould
,
and
kissed
a
rose
now
and
then
as
she
passed
one
.
When
she
got
into
the
city
that
day
,
her
rush-bottomed
chair
,
which
was
always
left
upside
down
in
case
rain
should
fall
in
the
night
,
was
set
ready
for
her
,
and
on
its
seat
was
a
gay
,
gilded
box
,
such
as
rich
people
give
away
full
of
bonbons
.
Bébée
stood
and
looked
from
the
box
to
the
Broodhuis
,
from
the
Broodhuis
to
the
box
;
she
glanced
around
,
but
no
one
had
come
there
so
early
as
she
,
except
the
tinker
,
who
was
busy
quarrelling
with
his
wife
and
letting
his
smelting
fire
burn
a
hole
in
his
breeches
.
"
The
box
was
certainly
for
her
,
since
it
was
set
upon
her
chair
?
"
—
Bébée
pondered
a
moment
;
then
little
by
little
opened
the
lid
.
Within
,
on
a
nest
of
rose-satin
,
were
two
pair
of
silk
stockings
!
—
real
silk
!
—
with
the
prettiest
clocks
worked
up
their
sides
in
color
!
Bébée
gave
a
little
scream
,
and
stood
still
,
the
blood
hot
in
her
cheeks
;
no
one
heard
her
,
the
tinker
's
wife
,
who
alone
was
near
,
having
just
wished
Heaven
to
send
a
judgment
on
her
husband
,
was
busy
putting
out
his
smoking
smallclothes
.
It
is
a
way
that
women
and
wives
have
,
and
they
never
see
the
bathos
of
it
.
The
place
filled
gradually
.
The
customary
crowds
gathered
.
The
business
of
the
day
began
underneath
the
multitudinous
tones
of
the
chiming
bells
.
Bébée
's
business
began
too
;
she
put
the
box
behind
her
with
a
beating
heart
,
and
tied
up
her
flowers
.
It
was
the
fairies
,
of
course
!
but
they
had
never
set
a
rush-bottomed
chair
on
its
legs
before
,
and
this
action
of
theirs
frightened
her
.
It
was
rather
an
empty
morning
.
She
sold
little
,
and
there
was
the
more
time
to
think
.
About
an
hour
after
noon
a
voice
addressed
her
,
—
"
Have
you
more
moss-roses
for
me
?
"
Bébée
looked
up
with
a
smile
,
and
found
some
.
It
was
her
companion
of
the
cathedral
.
She
had
thought
much
of
the
red
shoes
and
the
silver
clasps
,
but
she
had
thought
nothing
at
all
of
him
.
"
You
are
not
too
proud
to
be
paid
to-day
?
"
he
said
,
giving
her
a
silver
franc
;
he
would
not
alarm
her
with
any
more
gold
;
she
thanked
him
,
and
slipped
it
in
her
little
leathern
pouch
,
and
went
on
sorting
some
clove-pinks
.
"
You
do
not
seem
to
remember
me
?
"
he
said
,
with
a
little
sadness
.
"
Oh
,
I
remember
you
,
"
said
Bébée
,
lifting
her
frank
eyes
.
"
But
you
know
I
speak
to
so
many
people
,
and
they
are
all
nothing
to
me
.
"
"
Who
is
anything
to
you
?
"
It
was
softly
and
insidiously
spoken
,
but
it
awoke
no
echo
.
"
Varnhart
's
children
,
"
she
answered
him
,
instantly
.
"
And
old
Annémie
by
the
wharfside
—
and
Tambour
—
and
Antoine
's
grave
—
and
the
starling
—
and
,
of
course
,
above
all
,
the
flowers
.
"
"
And
the
fairies
,
I
suppose
?
—
though
they
do
nothing
for
you
.
"
She
looked
at
him
eagerly
,
—
"
They
have
done
something
to-day
.
I
have
found
a
box
,
and
some
stockings
—
such
beautiful
stockings
!
Silk
ones
!
Is
it
not
very
odd
?
"
"
It
is
more
odd
they
should
have
forgotten
you
so
long
.
May
I
see
them
?
"
"
I
cannot
show
them
to
you
now
.
Those
ladies
are
going
to
buy
.
But
you
can
see
them
later
—
if
you
wait
.
"
"
I
will
wait
and
paint
the
Broodhuis
.
"
"
So
many
people
do
that
;
you
are
a
painter
then
?
"
"
Yes
—
in
a
way
.
"
He
sat
down
on
an
edge
of
the
stall
,
and
spread
his
things
there
,
and
sketched
,
whilst
the
traffic
went
on
around
them
.
He
was
very
many
years
older
than
she
;
handsome
,
with
a
dark
,
and
changeful
,
and
listless
face
;
he
wore
brown
velvet
,
and
had
a
red
ribbon
at
his
throat
;
he
looked
a
little
as
Egmont
might
have
done
when
wooing
Claire
.
Bébée
,
as
she
sold
the
flowers
and
took
the
change
fifty
times
in
the
hour
,
glanced
at
him
now
and
then
,
and
watched
the
movements
of
his
hands
,
she
could
not
have
told
why
.
Always
among
men
and
women
,
always
in
the
crowds
of
the
streets
,
people
were
nothing
to
her
;
she
went
through
them
as
through
a
field
of
standing
corn
,
—
only
in
the
field
she
would
have
tarried
for
poppies
,
and
in
the
town
she
tarried
for
no
one
.
She
dealt
with
men
as
with
women
,
simply
,
truthfully
,
frankly
,
with
the
innocent
fearlessness
of
a
child
.
When
they
told
her
she
was
pretty
,
she
smiled
;
it
was
just
as
they
said
that
her
flowers
were
sweet
.
But
this
man
's
hands
moved
so
swiftly
;
and
as
she
saw
her
Broodhuis
growing
into
color
and
form
beneath
them
,
she
could
not
choose
but
look
now
and
then
,
and
twice
she
gave
her
change
wrong
.
He
spoke
to
her
rarely
,
and
sketched
on
and
on
in
rapid
bold
strokes
the
quaint
graces
and
massive
richness
of
the
Maison
du
Roi
.
There
is
no
crowd
so
busy
in
Brabant
that
it
will
not
find
leisure
to
stare
.
The
Fleming
or
the
Walloon
has
nothing
of
the
Frenchman
's
courtesy
;
he
is
rough
and
rude
;
he
remains
a
peasant
even
when
town
bred
,
and
the
surly
insolence
of
the
"
Gueux
"
is
in
him
still
.
He
is
kindly
to
his
fellows
,
though
not
to
beasts
;
he
is
shrewd
,
patient
,
thrifty
,
industrious
,
and
good
in
very
many
ways
,
but
civil
never
.
A
good
score
of
them
left
off
their
occupations
and
clustered
round
the
painter
,
staring
,
chattering
,
pushing
,
pointing
,
as
though
a
brush
had
never
been
seen
in
all
the
land
of
Rubens
.
Bébée
,
ashamed
of
her
people
,
got
up
from
her
chair
and
rebuked
them
.
"
Oh
,
men
of
Brussels
;
fie
then
for
shame
!
"
she
called
to
them
as
clearly
as
a
robin
sings
.
"
Did
never
you
see
a
drawing
before
?
and
are
there
not
saints
and
martyrs
enough
to
look
at
in
the
galleries
?
and
have
you
never
some
better
thing
to
do
than
to
gape
wide-mouthed
at
a
stranger
?
What
laziness
—
ah
!
Just
worthy
of
a
people
who
sleep
and
smoke
while
their
dogs
work
for
them
!
Go
away
,
all
of
you
;
look
,
there
comes
the
gendarme
—
it
will
be
the
worse
for
you
.
Sir
,
sit
under
my
stall
;
they
will
not
dare
trouble
you
then
.
"
He
moved
under
the
awning
,
thanking
her
with
a
smile
;
and
the
people
,
laughing
,
shuffled
unwillingly
aside
and
let
him
paint
on
in
peace
.
It
was
only
little
Bébée
,
but
they
had
spoilt
the
child
from
her
infancy
,
and
were
used
to
obey
her
.
The
painter
took
a
long
time
.
He
set
about
it
with
the
bold
ease
of
one
used
to
all
the
intricacies
of
form
and
color
,
and
he
had
the
skill
of
a
master
.
But
he
spent
more
than
half
the
time
looking
idly
at
the
humors
of
the
populace
or
watching
how
the
treasures
of
Bébée
's
garden
went
away
one
by
one
in
the
hands
of
strangers
.
Meanwhile
,
ever
and
again
,
sitting
on
the
edge
of
her
stall
,
with
his
colors
and
brushes
tossed
out
on
the
board
,
he
talked
to
her
,
and
,
with
the
soft
imperceptible
skill
of
long
practice
in
those
arts
,
he
drew
out
the
details
of
her
little
simple
life
.
There
were
not
always
people
to
buy
,
and
whilst
she
rested
and
sheltered
the
flowers
from
the
sun
,
she
answered
him
willingly
,
and
in
one
of
her
longer
rests
showed
him
the
wonderful
stockings
.
"
Do
you
think
it
could
be
the
fairies
?
"
she
asked
him
a
little
doubtfully
.
It
was
easy
to
make
her
believe
any
fantastical
nonsense
;
but
her
fairies
were
ethereal
divinities
.
She
could
scarcely
believe
that
they
had
laid
that
box
on
her
chair
.
"
Impossible
to
doubt
it
!
"
he
replied
,
unhesitatingly
.
"
Given
a
belief
in
fairies
at
all
,
why
should
there
be
any
limit
to
what
they
can
do
?
It
is
the
same
with
the
saints
,
is
it
not
?
"
"
Yes
,
"
said
Bébée
,
thoughtfully
.
The
saints
were
mixed
up
in
her
imagination
with
the
fairies
in
an
intricacy
that
would
have
defied
the
best
reasonings
of
Father
Francis
.
"
Well
,
then
,
you
will
wear
the
stockings
,
will
you
not
?
Only
,
believe
me
,
your
feet
are
far
prettier
without
them
.
"
Bébée
laughed
happily
,
and
took
another
peep
in
the
cosy
rose-satin
nest
.
But
her
little
face
had
a
certain
perplexity
.
Suddenly
she
turned
on
him
.
"
Did
not
you
put
them
there
?
"
"
I
?
—
never
!
"
"
Are
you
quite
sure
?
"
"
Quite
;
but
why
ask
?
"
"
Because
,
"
said
Bébée
,
shutting
the
box
resolutely
and
pushing
it
a
little
away
,
—
"
because
I
would
not
take
it
if
you
did
.
You
are
a
stranger
,
and
a
present
is
a
debt
,
so
Antoine
always
said
.
"
"
Why
take
a
present
then
from
the
Varnhart
children
,
or
your
old
friend
who
gave
you
the
clasps
?
"
"
Ah
,
that
is
very
different
.
When
people
are
very
,
very
poor
,
equally
poor
,
the
one
with
the
other
,
little
presents
that
they
save
for
and
make
with
such
a
difficulty
are
just
things
that
are
a
pleasure
;
sacrifices
;
like
your
sitting
up
with
a
sick
person
at
night
,
and
then
she
sits
up
with
you
another
year
when
you
want
it
.
Do
you
not
know
?
"
"
I
know
you
talk
very
prettily
.
But
why
should
you
not
take
any
one
else
's
present
,
though
he
may
not
be
poor
?
"
"
Because
I
could
not
return
it
.
"
"
Could
you
not
?
"
The
smile
in
his
eyes
dazzled
her
a
little
;
it
was
so
strange
,
and
yet
had
so
much
light
in
it
;
but
she
did
not
understand
him
one
whit
.
"
No
;
how
could
I
?
"
she
said
earnestly
.
"
If
I
were
to
save
for
two
years
,
I
could
not
get
francs
enough
to
buy
anything
worth
giving
back
;
and
I
should
be
so
unhappy
,
thinking
of
the
debt
of
it
always
.
Do
tell
me
if
you
put
those
stockings
there
?
"
"
No
"
;
he
looked
at
her
,
and
the
trivial
lie
faltered
and
died
away
;
the
eyes
,
clear
as
crystal
,
questioned
him
so
innocently
.
"
Well
,
if
I
did
?
"
he
said
,
frankly
;
"
you
wished
for
them
;
what
harm
was
there
?
Will
you
be
so
cruel
as
to
refuse
them
from
me
?
"
The
tears
sprang
into
Bébée
's
eyes
.
She
was
sorry
to
lose
the
beautiful
box
,
but
more
sorry
he
had
lied
to
her
.
"
It
was
very
kind
and
good
,
"
she
said
,
regretfully
.
"
But
I
cannot
think
why
you
should
have
done
it
,
as
you
had
never
known
me
at
all
.
And
,
indeed
,
I
could
not
take
them
,
because
Antoine
would
not
let
me
if
he
were
alive
;
and
if
I
gave
you
a
flower
every
day
all
the
year
round
I
should
not
pay
you
the
worth
of
them
,
it
would
be
quite
impossible
;
and
why
should
you
tell
me
falsehoods
about
such
a
thing
?
A
falsehood
is
never
a
thing
for
a
man
.
"
She
shut
the
box
and
pushed
it
towards
him
,
and
turned
to
the
selling
of
her
bouquets
.
Her
voice
shook
a
little
as
she
tied
up
a
bunch
of
mignonette
and
told
the
price
of
it
.
Those
beautiful
stockings
!
why
had
she
ever
seen
them
,
and
why
had
he
told
her
a
lie
?
It
made
her
heart
heavy
.
For
the
first
time
in
her
brief
life
the
Broodhuis
seemed
to
frown
between
her
and
the
sun
.
Undisturbed
,
he
painted
on
and
did
not
look
at
her
.
The
day
was
nearly
done
.
The
people
began
to
scatter
.
The
shadows
grew
very
long
.
He
painted
,
not
glancing
once
elsewhere
than
at
his
study
.
Bébée
's
baskets
were
quite
empty
.
She
rose
,
and
lingered
,
and
regarded
him
wistfully
:
he
was
angered
;
perhaps
she
had
been
rude
?
Her
little
heart
failed
her
.
If
he
would
only
look
up
!
But
he
did
not
look
up
;
he
kept
his
handsome
dark
face
studiously
over
the
canvas
of
the
Broodhuis
.
She
would
have
seen
a
smile
in
his
eyes
if
he
had
lifted
them
;
but
he
never
raised
his
lids
.
Bébée
hesitated
:
take
the
stockings
she
would
not
;
but
perhaps
she
had
refused
them
too
roughly
.
She
wished
so
that
he
would
look
up
and
save
her
speaking
first
;
but
he
knew
what
he
was
about
too
warily
and
well
to
help
her
thus
.
She
waited
awhile
,
then
took
one
little
red
moss-rosebud
that
she
had
saved
all
day
in
a
corner
of
her
basket
,
and
held
it
out
to
him
frankly
,
shyly
,
as
a
peace
offering
.
"
Was
I
rude
?
I
did
not
mean
to
be
.
But
I
cannot
take
the
stockings
;
and
why
did
you
tell
me
that
falsehood
?
"
He
took
the
rosebud
and
rose
too
,
and
smiled
;
but
he
did
not
meet
her
eyes
.
"
Let
us
forget
the
whole
matter
;
it
is
not
worth
a
sou
.
If
you
do
not
take
the
box
,
leave
it
;
it
is
of
no
use
to
me
.
"
"
I
cannot
take
it
.
"
She
knew
she
was
doing
right
.
How
was
it
that
he
could
make
her
feel
as
though
she
were
acting
wrongly
?
"
Leave
it
then
,
I
say
.
You
are
not
the
first
woman
,
my
dear
,
who
has
quarrelled
with
a
wish
fulfilled
.
It
is
a
way
your
sex
has
of
rewarding
gods
and
men
.
—
Here
,
you
old
witch
,
here
is
a
treasure-trove
for
you
.
You
can
sell
it
for
ten
francs
in
the
town
anywhere
.
"
As
he
spoke
he
tossed
the
casket
and
the
stockings
in
it
to
an
old
decrepit
woman
,
who
was
passing
by
with
a
baker
's
cart
drawn
by
a
dog
;
and
,
not
staying
to
heed
her
astonishment
,
gathered
his
colors
and
easel
together
.
The
tears
swam
in
Bébée
's
eyes
as
she
saw
the
box
whirled
through
the
air
.
She
had
done
right
;
she
was
sure
she
had
done
right
.
He
was
a
stranger
,
and
she
could
never
have
repaid
him
;
but
he
made
her
feel
herself
wayward
and
ungrateful
,
and
it
was
hard
to
see
the
beautiful
fairy
gift
borne
away
forever
by
the
chuckling
,
hobbling
,
greedy
old
baker
's
woman
.
If
he
had
only
taken
it
himself
,
she
would
have
been
glad
then
to
have
been
brave
and
to
have
done
her
duty
.
But
it
was
not
in
his
design
that
she
should
be
glad
.
He
saw
her
tears
,
but
he
seemed
not
to
see
them
.
"
Good
night
,
Bébée
,
"
he
said
carelessly
,
as
he
sauntered
aside
from
her
.
"
Good
night
,
my
dear
.
To-morrow
I
will
finish
my
painting
;
but
I
will
not
offend
you
by
any
more
gifts
.
"
Bébée
lifted
her
drooped
head
,
and
looked
him
in
the
eyes
eagerly
,
with
a
certain
sturdy
resolve
and
timid
wistfulness
intermingled
in
her
look
.
"
Sir
,
see
,
you
speak
to
me
quite
wrongly
,
"
she
said
with
a
quick
accent
,
that
had
pride
as
well
as
pain
in
it
.
"
Say
it
was
kind
to
bring
me
what
I
wished
for
;
yes
,
it
was
kind
I
know
;
but
you
never
saw
me
till
last
night
,
and
I
cannot
tell
even
your
name
;
and
it
is
very
wrong
to
lie
to
any
one
,
even
to
a
little
thing
like
me
;
and
I
am
only
Bébée
,
and
cannot
give
you
anything
back
,
because
I
have
only
just
enough
to
feed
myself
and
the
starling
,
and
not
always
that
in
winter
.
I
thank
you
very
much
for
what
you
wished
to
do
;
but
if
I
had
taken
those
things
,
I
think
you
would
have
thought
me
very
mean
and
full
of
greed
;
and
Antoine
always
said
,
'
Do
not
take
what
you
cannot
pay
—
not
ever
what
you
cannot
pay
—
that
is
the
way
to
walk
with
pure
feet
.
'
Perhaps
I
spoke
ill
,
because
they
spoil
me
,
and
they
say
I
am
too
swift
to
say
my
mind
.
But
I
am
not
thankless
—
not
thankless
,
indeed
—
it
is
only
I
could
not
take
what
I
cannot
pay
.
That
is
all
.
You
are
angry
still
—
not
now
—
no
?
"
There
was
,
anxiety
in
the
pleading
.
What
did
it
matter
to
her
what
a
stranger
thought
?
And
yet
Bébée
's
heart
was
heavy
as
he
laughed
a
little
coldly
,
and
bade
her
good
day
,
and
left
her
alone
to
go
out
of
the
city
homewards
.
A
sense
of
having
done
wrong
weighed
on
her
;
of
having
been
rude
and
ungrateful
.
She
had
no
heart
for
the
children
that
evening
.
Mère
Krebs
was
sitting
out
before
her
door
shelling
peas
,
and
called
to
her
to
come
in
and
have
a
drop
of
coffee
.
Krebs
had
come
in
from
Vilvöorde
fair
,
and
brought
a
stock
of
rare
good
berries
with
him
.
But
Bébée
thanked
her
,
and
went
on
to
her
own
garden
to
work
.
She
had
always
liked
to
sit
out
on
the
quaint
wooden
steps
of
the
mill
and
under
the
red
shadow
of
the
sails
,
watching
the
swallows
flutter
to
and
fro
in
the
sunset
,
and
hearing
the
droll
frogs
croak
in
the
rushes
,
while
the
old
people
told
her
tales
of
the
time
of
how
in
their
babyhood
they
had
run
out
,
fearful
yet
fascinated
,
to
see
the
beautiful
Scots
Grays
flash
by
in
the
murky
night
,
and
the
endless
line
of
guns
and
caissons
crawl
black
as
a
snake
through
the
summer
dust
and
the
trampled
corn
,
going
out
past
the
woods
to
Waterloo
.
But
to-night
she
had
no
fancy
for
it
:
she
wanted
to
be
alone
with
the
flowers
.
Though
,
to
be
sure
,
they
had
been
very
heartless
when
Antoine
's
coffin
had
gone
past
them
,
still
they
had
sympathy
;
the
daisies
smiled
at
her
with
their
golden
eyes
,
and
the
roses
dropped
tears
on
her
hand
,
just
as
her
mood
might
be
;
the
flowers
were
closer
friends
,
after
all
,
than
any
human
souls
;
and
besides
,
she
could
say
so
much
to
them
!
Flowers
belong
to
fairyland
;
the
flowers
and
the
birds
and
the
butterflies
are
all
that
the
world
has
kept
of
its
Golden
Age
;
the
only
perfectly
beautiful
things
on
earth
,
joyous
,
innocent
,
half
divine
,
useless
,
say
they
who
are
wiser
than
God
.
Bébée
went
home
and
worked
among
her
flowers
.
A
little
laborious
figure
,
with
her
petticoats
twisted
high
,
and
her
feet
wet
with
the
night
dews
,
and
her
back
bowed
to
the
hoeing
and
clipping
and
raking
among
the
blossoming
plants
.
"
How
late
you
are
working
to-night
,
Bébée
!
"
one
or
two
called
out
,
as
they
passed
the
gate
.
She
looked
up
and
smiled
;
but
went
on
working
while
the
white
moon
rose
.
She
did
not
know
what
ailed
her
.
She
went
to
bed
without
supper
,
leaving
her
bit
of
bread
and
bowl
of
goat
's
milk
to
make
a
meal
for
the
fowls
in
the
morning
.
"
Little
ugly
,
shameful
,
naked
feet
!
"
she
said
to
them
,
sitting
on
the
edge
of
her
mattress
,
and
looking
at
them
in
the
moonlight
.
They
were
very
pretty
feet
,
and
would
not
have
been
half
so
pretty
in
silk
hose
and
satin
shoon
;
but
she
did
not
know
that
:
he
had
told
her
she
wanted
those
vanities
.
She
sat
still
a
long
while
,
her
rosy
feet
swaying
to
and
fro
like
two
roses
that
grow
on
one
stalk
and
hang
down
in
the
wind
.
The
little
lattice
was
open
;
the
sweet
and
dusky
garden
was
beyond
;
there
was
a
hand
's
breadth
of
sky
,
in
which
a
single
star
was
shining
;
the
leaves
of
the
vine
hid
all
the
rest
.
But
for
once
she
saw
none
of
it
.
She
only
saw
the
black
Broodhuis
;
the
red
and
gold
sunset
overhead
;
the
gray
stones
,
with
the
fallen
rose
leaves
and
crushed
fruits
;
and
in
the
shadows
two
dark
,
reproachful
eyes
,
that
looked
at
hers
.
Had
she
been
ungrateful
?
The
little
tender
,
honest
heart
of
her
was
troubled
and
oppressed
.
For
once
,
that
night
she
slept
ill.
CHAPTER
VI
.
All
the
next
day
she
sat
under
the
yellow
awning
,
but
she
sat
alone
.
It
was
market
day
;
there
were
many
strangers
.
Flowers
were
in
demand
.
The
copper
pieces
were
ringing
against
one
another
all
the
hours
through
in
her
leathern
bag
.
The
cobbler
was
in
such
good
humor
that
he
forgot
to
quarrel
with
his
wife
.
The
fruit
was
in
such
plenty
that
they
gave
her
a
leaf-full
of
white
and
red
currants
for
her
noonday
dinner
.
And
the
people
split
their
sides
at
the
Cheap
John
's
jokes
;
he
was
so
droll
.
No
one
saw
the
leaks
in
his
kettles
or
the
hole
in
his
bellows
,
or
the
leg
that
was
lacking
to
his
milking
stool
.
Everybody
was
gay
and
merry
that
day
.
But
Bébée
's
eyes
looked
wistfully
over
the
throng
,
and
did
not
find
what
they
sought
.
Somehow
the
day
seemed
dull
,
and
the
square
empty
.
The
stones
and
the
timbers
around
seemed
more
than
ever
full
of
a
thousand
stories
that
they
would
not
tell
her
because
she
knew
nothing
,
and
was
only
Bébée
.
She
had
never
known
a
dull
hour
before
.
She
,
a
little
bright
,
industrious
,
gay
thing
,
whose
hands
were
always
full
of
work
,
and
whose
head
was
always
full
of
fancies
,
even
in
the
grimmest
winter
time
,
when
she
wove
the
lace
in
the
gray
,
chilly
workroom
,
with
the
frost
on
the
casements
,
and
the
mice
running
out
in
their
hunger
over
the
bare
brick
floor
.
That
bare
room
was
a
sad
enough
place
sometimes
,
when
the
old
women
would
bewail
how
they
starved
on
the
pittance
they
gained
,
and
the
young
women
sighed
for
their
aching
heads
and
their
failing
eyesight
,
and
the
children
dropped
great
tears
on
the
bobbins
,
because
they
had
come
out
without
a
crust
to
break
their
fast
.
She
had
been
sad
there
often
for
others
,
but
she
had
never
been
dull
—
not
with
this
unfamiliar
,
desolate
,
dreary
dulness
,
that
seemed
to
take
all
the
mirth
out
of
the
busy
life
around
her
,
and
all
the
color
out
of
the
blue
sky
above
.
Why
,
she
had
no
idea
herself
.
She
wondered
if
she
were
going
to
be
ill
;
she
had
never
been
ill
in
her
life
,
being
strong
as
a
little
bird
that
has
never
known
cage
or
captivity
.
When
the
day
was
done
,
Bébée
gave
a
quick
sigh
as
she
looked
across
the
square
.
She
had
so
wanted
to
tell
him
that
she
was
not
ungrateful
;
and
she
had
a
little
moss-rose
ready
,
with
a
sprig
of
sweetbrier
,
and
a
tiny
spray
of
maidenhair
fern
that
grew
under
the
willows
,
which
she
had
kept
covered
up
with
a
leaf
of
sycamore
all
the
day
long
.
No
one
would
have
it
now
.
The
child
went
out
of
the
place
sadly
as
the
carillon
rang
.
There
was
only
the
moss-rose
in
her
basket
,
and
the
red
and
white
currants
that
had
been
given
her
for
her
dinner
.
She
went
along
the
twisting
,
many-colored
,
quaintly
fashioned
streets
,
till
she
came
to
the
water-side
.
It
is
very
ancient
there
still
,
there
are
all
manner
of
old
buildings
,
black
and
brown
and
gray
,
peaked
roofs
,
gabled
windows
,
arched
doors
,
crumbling
bridges
,
twisted
galleries
leaning
to
touch
the
dark
surface
of
the
canal
,
dusky
wharves
crowded
with
barrels
,
and
bales
,
and
cattle
,
and
timber
,
and
all
the
various
freightage
that
the
good
ships
come
and
go
with
all
the
year
round
,
to
and
from
the
ZuyderZee
,
and
the
Baltic
water
,
and
the
wild
Northumbrian
shores
,
and
the
iron-bound
Scottish
headlands
,
and
the
pretty
gray
Norman
seaports
,
and
the
white
sandy
dunes
of
Holland
,
with
the
toy
towns
and
the
straight
poplar-trees
.
Bébée
was
fond
of
watching
the
brigs
and
barges
,
that
looked
so
big
to
her
,
with
their
national
flags
flying
,
and
their
tall
masts
standing
thick
as
grass
,
and
their
tawny
sails
flapping
in
the
wind
,
and
about
them
the
sweet
,
strong
smell
of
that
strange
,
unknown
thing
,
the
sea
.
Sometimes
the
sailors
would
talk
with
her
;
sometimes
some
old
salt
,
sitting
astride
of
a
cask
,
would
tell
her
a
mariner
's
tale
of
far-away
lands
and
mysteries
of
the
deep
;
sometimes
some
curly-headed
cabin-boy
would
give
her
a
shell
or
a
plume
of
seaweed
,
and
try
and
make
her
understand
what
the
wonderful
wild
water
was
like
,
which
was
not
quiet
and
sluggish
and
dusky
as
this
canal
was
,
but
was
forever
changing
and
moving
,
and
curling
and
leaping
,
and
making
itself
now
blue
as
her
eyes
,
now
black
as
that
thunder-cloud
,
now
white
as
the
snow
that
the
winter
wind
tossed
,
now
pearl
hued
and
opaline
as
the
convolvulus
that
blew
in
her
own
garden
.
And
Bébée
would
listen
,
with
the
shell
in
her
lap
,
and
try
to
understand
,
and
gaze
at
the
ships
and
then
at
the
sky
beyond
them
,
and
try
to
figure
to
herself
those
strange
countries
to
which
these
ships
were
always
going
,
and
saw
in
fancy
all
the
blossoming
orchard
province
of
green
France
,
and
all
the
fir-clothed
hills
and
rushing
rivers
of
the
snow-locked
Swedish
shore
,
and
saw
too
,
doubtless
,
many
lands
that
had
no
place
at
all
except
in
dreamland
,
and
were
more
beautiful
even
than
the
beauty
of
the
earth
,
as
poets
'
countries
are
,
to
their
own
sorrow
,
oftentimes
.
But
this
dull
day
Bébée
did
not
go
down
upon
the
wharf
;
she
did
not
want
the
sailors
'
tales
;
she
saw
the
masts
and
the
bits
of
bunting
that
streamed
from
them
,
and
they
made
her
restless
,
which
they
had
never
done
before
.
Instead
she
went
in
at
a
dark
old
door
and
climbed
up
a
steep
staircase
that
went
up
and
up
,
as
though
she
were
mounting
St.
Gudule
's
belfry
towers
;
and
at
the
top
of
it
entered
a
little
chamber
in
the
roof
,
where
one
square
unglazed
hole
that
served
for
light
looked
out
upon
the
canal
,
with
all
its
crowded
craft
,
from
the
dainty
schooner
yacht
,
fresh
as
gilding
and
holystone
could
make
her
,
that
was
running
for
pleasure
to
the
Scheldt
,
to
the
rude
,
clumsy
coal
barge
,
black
as
night
,
that
bore
the
rough
diamonds
of
Belgium
to
the
snow-buried
roofs
of
Christiania
and
Stromstad
.
In
the
little
dark
attic
there
was
a
very
old
woman
in
a
red
petticoat
and
a
high
cap
,
who
sat
against
the
window
,
and
pricked
out
lace
patterns
with
a
pin
on
thick
paper
.
She
was
eighty-five
years
old
,
and
could
hardly
keep
body
and
soul
together
.
Bébée
,
running
to
her
,
kissed
her
.
"
Oh
,
mother
Annémie
,
look
here
!
Beautiful
red
and
white
currants
,
and
a
roll
;
I
saved
them
for
you
.
They
are
the
first
currants
we
have
seen
this
year
.
Me
?
oh
,
for
me
,
I
have
eaten
more
than
are
good
!
You
know
I
pick
fruit
like
a
sparrow
,
always
.
Dear
mother
Annémie
,
are
you
better
?
Are
you
quite
sure
you
are
better
to-day
?
"
The
little
old
withered
woman
,
brown
as
a
walnut
and
meagre
as
a
rush
,
took
the
currants
,
and
smiled
with
a
childish
glee
,
and
began
to
eat
them
,
blessing
the
child
with
each
crumb
she
broke
off
the
bread
.
"
Why
had
you
not
a
grandmother
of
your
own
,
my
little
one
?
"
she
mumbled
.
"
How
good
you
would
have
been
to
her
,
Bébée
!
"
"
Yes
,
"
said
Bébée
seriously
,
but
her
mind
could
not
grasp
the
idea
.
It
was
easier
for
her
to
believe
the
fanciful
lily
parentage
of
Antoine
's
stories
.
"
How
much
work
have
you
done
,
Annémie
?
Oh
,
all
that
?
all
that
?
But
there
is
enough
for
a
week
.
You
work
too
early
and
too
late
,
you
dear
Annémie
.
"
"
Nay
,
Bébée
,
when
one
has
to
get
one
's
bread
that
cannot
be
.
But
I
am
afraid
my
eyes
are
failing
.
That
rose
now
,
is
it
well
done
?
"
"
Beautifully
done
.
Would
the
Baës
take
them
if
they
were
not
?
You
know
he
is
one
that
cuts
every
centime
in
four
pieces
.
"
"
Ah
!
sharp
enough
,
sharp
enough
,
that
is
true
.
But
I
am
always
afraid
of
my
eyes
.
I
do
not
see
the
flags
out
there
so
well
as
I
used
to
do
.
"
"
Because
the
sun
is
so
bright
,
Annémie
;
that
is
all
.
I
myself
,
when
I
have
been
sitting
all
day
in
the
place
in
the
light
,
the
flowers
look
pale
to
me
.
And
you
know
it
is
not
age
with
me
,
Annémie
?
"
The
old
woman
and
the
young
girl
laughed
together
at
that
droll
idea
.
"
You
have
a
merry
heart
,
dear
little
one
,
"
said
old
Annémie
.
"
The
saints
keep
it
to
you
always
.
"
"
May
I
tidy
the
room
a
little
?
"
"
To
be
sure
,
dear
,
and
thank
you
too
.
I
have
not
much
time
,
you
see
;
and
somehow
my
back
aches
badly
when
I
stoop
.
"
"
And
it
is
so
damp
here
for
you
,
over
all
that
water
!
"
said
Bébée
as
she
swept
and
dusted
and
set
to
rights
the
tiny
place
,
and
put
in
a
little
broken
pot
a
few
sprays
of
honeysuckle
and
rosemary
that
she
had
brought
with
her
.
"
It
is
so
damp
here
.
You
should
have
come
and
lived
in
my
hut
with
me
,
Annémie
,
and
sat
out
under
the
vine
all
day
,
and
looked
after
the
chickens
for
me
when
I
was
in
the
town
.
They
are
such
mischievous
little
souls
;
as
soon
as
my
back
is
turned
one
or
other
is
sure
to
push
through
the
roof
,
and
get
out
among
the
flower-beds
.
Will
you
never
change
your
mind
,
and
live
with
me
,
Annémie
?
I
am
sure
you
would
be
happy
,
and
the
starling
says
your
name
quite
plain
,
and
he
is
such
a
funny
bird
to
talk
to
;
you
never
would
tire
of
him
.
Will
you
never
come
?
It
is
so
bright
there
,
and
green
and
sweet
smelling
;
and
to
think
you
never
even
have
seen
it
!
—
and
the
swans
and
all
,
—
it
is
a
shame
.
"
"
No
,
dear
,
"
said
old
Annémie
,
eating
her
last
bunch
of
currants
.
"
You
have
said
so
so
often
,
and
you
are
good
and
mean
it
,
that
I
know
.
But
I
could
not
leave
the
water
.
It
would
kill
me
.
Out
of
this
window
you
know
I
saw
my
Jeannot
's
brig
go
away
—
away
—
away
—
till
the
masts
were
lost
in
the
mists
.
Going
with
iron
to
Norway
;
the
'
Fleur
d'Epine
'
of
this
town
,
a
good
ship
,
and
a
sure
,
and
her
mate
;
and
as
proud
as
might
be
,
and
with
a
little
blest
Mary
in
lead
round
his
throat
.
She
was
to
be
back
in
port
in
eight
months
,
bringing
timber
.
Eight
months
—
that
brought
Easter
time
.
But
she
never
came
.
Never
,
never
,
never
,
you
know
.
I
sat
here
watching
them
come
and
go
,
and
my
child
sickened
and
died
,
and
the
summer
passed
,
and
the
autumn
,
and
all
the
while
I
looked
—
looked
—
looked
;
for
the
brigs
are
all
much
alike
;
and
only
her
I
always
saw
as
soon
as
she
hove
in
sight
(
because
he
tied
a
hank
of
flax
to
her
mizzen-mast
)
;
and
when
he
was
home
safe
and
sound
I
spun
the
hank
into
hose
for
him
;
that
was
a
fancy
of
his
,
and
for
eleven
voyages
,
one
on
another
,
he
had
never
missed
to
tie
the
flax
nor
I
to
spin
the
hose
.
But
the
hank
of
flax
I
never
saw
this
time
;
nor
the
brave
brig
;
nor
my
good
man
with
his
sunny
blue
eyes
.
Only
one
day
in
winter
,
when
the
great
blocks
of
ice
were
smashing
hither
and
thither
,
a
coaster
came
in
and
brought
tidings
of
how
off
in
the
Danish
waters
they
had
come
on
a
water-logged
brig
,
and
had
boarded
her
,
and
had
found
her
empty
,
and
her
hull
riven
in
two
,
and
her
crew
all
drowned
and
dead
beyond
any
manner
of
doubt
.
And
on
her
stern
there
was
her
name
painted
white
,
the
'
Fleur
d'Epine
,
'
of
Brussels
,
as
plain
as
name
could
be
;
and
that
was
all
we
ever
knew
:
what
evil
had
struck
her
,
or
how
they
had
perished
,
nobody
ever
told
.
Only
the
coaster
brought
that
bit
of
beam
away
,
with
the
'
Fleur
d'Epine
'
writ
clear
upon
it
.
But
you
see
I
never
know
my
man
is
dead
.
Any
day
—
who
can
say
?
—
any
one
of
those
ships
may
bring
him
aboard
of
her
,
and
he
may
leap
out
on
the
wharf
there
,
and
come
running
up
the
stairs
as
he
used
to
do
,
and
cry
,
in
his
merry
voice
,
'
Annémie
,
Annémie
,
here
is
more
flax
to
spin
,
here
is
more
hose
to
weave
!
'
For
that
was
always
his
homeward
word
;
no
matter
whether
he
had
had
fair
weather
or
foul
,
he
always
knotted
the
flax
to
his
masthead
.
So
you
see
,
dear
,
I
could
not
leave
here
.
For
what
if
he
came
and
found
me
away
?
He
would
say
it
was
an
odd
fashion
of
mourning
for
him
.
And
I
could
not
do
without
the
window
,
you
know
.
I
can
watch
all
the
brigs
come
in
;
and
I
can
smell
the
shipping
smell
that
I
have
loved
all
the
days
of
my
life
;
and
I
can
see
the
lads
heaving
,
and
climbing
,
and
furling
,
and
mending
their
bits
of
canvas
,
and
hauling
their
flags
up
and
down
.
And
then
who
can
say
?
—
the
sea
never
took
him
,
I
think
—
I
think
I
shall
hear
his
voice
before
I
die
.
For
they
do
say
that
God
is
good
.
"
Bébée
,
sweeping
very
noiselessly
,
listened
,
and
her
eyes
grew
wistful
and
wondering
.
She
had
heard
the
story
a
thousand
times
;
always
in
different
words
,
but
always
the
same
little
tale
,
and
she
knew
how
old
Annémie
was
deaf
to
all
the
bells
that
tolled
the
time
,
and
blind
to
all
the
whiteness
of
her
hair
and
all
the
wrinkles
of
her
face
,
and
only
thought
of
her
sea-slain
lover
as
he
had
been
in
the
days
of
her
youth
.
But
this
afternoon
the
familiar
history
had
a
new
patheticalness
