hergo
home
alone
that
night
.
Her
work
was
quickly
done
,
and
by
the
light
of
the
moon
she
spread
her
book
on
her
lap
in
the
porch
of
the
hut
and
began
her
new
delight
.
The
children
had
come
and
pulled
at
her
skirts
and
begged
her
to
play
.
But
Bébée
had
shaken
her
head
.
"
I
am
going
to
learn
to
be
very
wise
,
dear
,
"
she
told
them
;
"
I
shall
not
have
time
to
dance
or
to
play
.
"
"
But
people
are
not
merry
when
they
are
wise
,
Bébée
,
"
said
Franz
,
the
biggest
boy
.
"
Perhaps
not
,
"
said
Bébée
:
"
but
one
cannot
be
everything
,
you
know
,
Franz
.
"
"
But
surely
,
you
would
rather
be
merry
than
anything
else
?
"
"
I
think
there
is
something
better
,
Franz
.
I
am
not
sure
;
I
want
to
find
out
;
I
will
tell
you
when
I
know
.
"
"
Who
has
put
that
into
your
head
,
Bébée
?
"
"
The
angels
in
the
cathedral
,
"
she
told
them
;
and
the
children
were
awed
and
left
her
,
and
went
away
to
play
blind-man's-buff
by
themselves
,
on
the
grass
by
the
swan
's
water
.
"
But
for
all
that
the
angels
have
said
it
,
"
said
Franz
to
his
sisters
,
"
I
cannot
see
what
good
it
will
be
to
her
to
be
wise
,
if
she
will
not
care
any
longer
afterwards
for
almond
gingerbread
and
currant
cake
.
"
It
was
the
little
tale
of
"
Paul
and
Virginia
"
that
he
had
given
her
to
begin
her
studies
with
:
but
it
was
a
grand
copy
,
full
of
beautiful
drawings
nearly
at
every
page
.
It
was
hard
work
for
her
to
read
at
first
,
but
the
drawings
enticed
and
helped
her
,
and
she
soon
sank
breathlessly
into
the
charm
of
the
story
.
Many
words
she
did
not
know
;
many
passages
were
beyond
her
comprehension
;
she
was
absolutely
ignorant
,
and
had
nothing
but
the
force
of
her
own
fancy
to
aid
her
.
But
though
stumbling
at
every
step
,
as
a
lame
child
through
a
flowery
hillside
in
summer
,
she
was
happy
as
the
child
would
be
,
because
of
the
sweet
,
strange
air
that
was
blowing
about
her
,
and
the
blossoms
that
she
could
gather
into
her
hand
,
so
rare
,
so
wonderful
,
and
yet
withal
so
familiar
,
because
they
were
blossoms
.
With
her
fingers
buried
in
her
curls
,
with
her
book
on
her
knee
,
with
the
moon
rays
white
and
strong
on
the
page
,
Bébée
sat
entranced
as
the
hours
went
by
;
the
children
's
play
shouts
died
away
;
the
babble
of
the
gossip
at
the
house
doors
ceased
;
people
went
by
and
called
good
night
to
her
;
the
little
huts
shut
up
one
by
one
,
like
the
white
and
purple
convolvulus
cups
in
the
hedges
.
Bébée
did
not
stir
,
nor
did
she
hear
them
;
she
was
deaf
even
to
the
singing
of
the
nightingales
in
the
willows
,
where
she
sat
in
her
little
thatch
above
,
and
the
wet
garden-ways
beyond
her
.
A
heavy
step
came
tramping
down
the
lane
.
A
voice
called
to
her
,
—
"
What
are
you
doing
,
Bébée
,
there
,
this
time
of
the
night
?
It
is
on
the
strike
of
twelve
.
"
She
started
as
if
she
were
doing
some
evil
thing
,
and
stretched
her
arms
out
,
and
looked
around
with
blinded
,
wondering
eyes
,
as
if
she
had
been
rudely
wakened
from
her
sleep
.
"
What
are
you
doing
up
so
late
?
"
asked
Jeannot
;
he
was
coming
from
the
forest
in
the
dead
of
night
to
bring
food
for
his
family
;
he
lost
his
sleep
thus
often
,
but
he
never
thought
that
he
did
anything
except
his
duty
in
those
long
,
dark
,
tiring
tramps
to
and
fro
between
Soignies
and
Laeken
.
Bébée
shut
her
book
and
smiled
with
dreaming
eyes
,
that
saw
him
not
at
all
.
"
I
was
reading
—
and
,
Jeannot
,
his
name
is
Flamen
for
the
world
,
but
I
may
call
him
Victor
.
"
"
What
do
I
care
for
his
name
?
"
"
You
asked
it
this
morning
.
"
"
More
fool
I
.
Why
do
you
read
?
Reading
is
not
for
poor
folk
like
you
and
me
.
"
Bébée
smiled
up
at
the
white
clear
moon
that
sailed
above
the
woods
.
She
was
not
awake
out
of
her
dream
.
She
only
dimly
heard
the
words
he
spoke
.
"
You
are
a
little
peasant
,
"
said
Jeannot
roughly
,
as
he
paused
at
the
gate
.
"
It
is
all
you
can
do
to
get
your
bread
.
You
have
no
one
to
stand
between
you
and
hunger
.
How
will
it
be
with
you
when
the
slug
gets
your
roses
,
and
the
snail
your
carnations
,
and
your
hens
die
of
damp
,
and
your
lace
is
all
wove
awry
,
because
your
head
runs
on
reading
and
folly
,
and
you
are
spoilt
for
all
simple
pleasures
and
for
all
honest
work
?
"
She
smiled
,
still
looking
up
at
the
moon
,
with
the
dropping
ivy
touching
her
hair
.
"
You
are
cross
,
dear
Jeannot
.
Good
night
.
"
A
moment
afterwards
the
little
rickety
door
was
shut
,
and
the
rusty
bolt
drawn
within
it
;
Jeannot
stood
in
the
cool
summer
night
all
alone
,
and
knew
how
stupid
he
had
been
in
his
wrath
.
He
leaned
on
the
gate
a
minute
;
then
crossed
the
garden
as
softly
as
his
wooden
shoes
would
let
him
.
He
tapped
gently
on
the
shutter
of
the
lattice
.
"
Bébée
—
Bébée
—
just
listen
.
I
spoke
roughly
,
dear
—
I
know
I
have
no
right
.
I
am
sorry
.
Will
you
be
friends
with
me
again
?
—
do
be
friends
again
.
"
She
opened
the
shutter
a
little
way
,
so
that
he
could
see
her
pretty
mouth
speaking
,
"
we
are
friends
—
we
will
always
be
friends
,
of
course
—
only
you
do
not
know
.
Good
night
.
"
He
went
away
with
a
heavy
heart
and
a
long-drawn
step
.
He
would
have
preferred
that
she
should
have
been
angry
with
him
.
Bébée
,
left
alone
,
let
the
clothes
drop
off
her
pretty
round
shoulders
and
her
rosy
limbs
,
and
shook
out
her
coils
of
hair
,
and
kissed
the
book
,
and
laid
it
under
her
head
,
and
went
to
sleep
with
a
smile
on
her
face
.
Only
,
as
she
slept
,
her
ringers
moved
as
if
she
were
counting
her
beads
,
and
her
lips
murmured
,
—
"
Oh
,
dear
Holy
Mother
,
you
have
so
much
to
think
of
—
yes
.
I
know
—
all
the
poor
,
and
all
the
little
children
.
But
take
care
of
him
;
he
is
called
Flamen
,
and
he
lives
in
the
street
of
Mary
of
Burgundy
;
you
cannot
miss
him
;
and
if
you
will
look
for
him
always
,
and
have
a
heed
that
the
angels
never
leave
him
,
I
will
give
you
my
great
cactus
glower
—
my
only
one
—
on
your
Feast
of
Roses
this
very
year
.
Oh
,
dear
Mother
,
you
will
not
forget
!
"
CHAPTER
XII
.
Bébée
was
a
dreamer
in
her
way
,
and
aspired
to
be
a
scholar
too
.
But
all
the
same
,
she
was
not
a
little
fool
.
She
had
been
reared
in
hardy
,
simple
,
honest
ways
of
living
,
and
would
have
thought
it
as
shameful
as
a
theft
to
have
owed
her
bread
to
other
folk
.
So
,
though
she
had
a
wakeful
,
restless
night
,
full
of
strange
fantasies
,
none
the
less
was
she
out
in
her
garden
by
daybreak
;
none
the
less
did
she
sweep
out
her
floor
and
make
her
mash
for
the
fowls
,
and
wash
out
her
bit
of
linen
and
hang
it
to
dry
on
a
line
among
the
tall
,
flaunting
hollyhocks
that
were
so
proud
of
themselves
because
they
reached
to
the
roof
.
"
What
do
you
want
with
books
,
Bébée
?
"
said
Reine
,
the
sabot-maker
's
wife
,
across
the
privet
hedge
,
as
she
also
hung
out
her
linen
.
"
Franz
told
me
you
were
reading
last
night
.
It
is
the
silver
buckles
have
done
that
:
one
mischief
always
begets
another
.
"
"
Where
is
the
mischief
,
good
Reine
?
"
said
Bébée
,
who
was
always
prettily
behaved
with
her
elders
,
though
,
when
pushed
to
it
,
she
could
hold
her
own
.
"
The
mischief
will
be
in
discontent
,
"
said
the
sabot-maker
's
wife
.
"
People
live
on
their
own
little
patch
,
and
think
it
is
the
world
;
that
is
as
it
should
be
—
everybody
within
his
own
,
like
a
nut
in
its
shell
.
But
when
you
get
reading
,
you
hear
of
a
swarm
of
things
you
never
saw
,
and
you
fret
because
you
cannot
see
them
,
and
you
dream
,
and
dream
,
and
a
hole
is
burnt
in
your
soup-pot
,
and
your
dough
is
as
heavy
as
lead
.
You
are
like
bees
that
leave
their
own
clover
fields
to
buzz
themselves
dead
against
the
glass
of
a
hothouse
.
"
Bébée
smiled
,
reaching
to
spread
out
her
linen
.
But
she
said
nothing
.
"
What
good
is
it
talking
to
them
?
"
she
thought
;
"
they
do
not
know
.
"
Already
the
neighbors
and
friends
of
her
infancy
seemed
so
far
,
far
away
;
creatures
of
a
distant
world
,
that
she
had
long
left
;
it
was
no
use
talking
,
they
never
would
understand
.
"
Antoine
should
never
have
taught
you
your
letters
,
"
said
Reine
,
groaning
under
the
great
blue
shirts
she
was
hanging
on
high
among
the
leaves
.
"
I
told
him
so
at
the
time
.
I
said
,
'
The
child
is
a
good
child
,
and
spins
,
and
sews
,
and
sweeps
,
rare
and
fine
for
her
age
;
why
go
and
spoil
her
?
'
But
he
was
always
headstrong
.
Not
a
child
of
mine
knows
a
letter
,
the
saints
be
praised
!
nor
a
word
of
any
tongue
but
our
own
good
Flemish
.
You
should
have
been
brought
up
the
same
.
You
would
have
come
to
no
trouble
then
.
"
"
I
am
in
no
trouble
,
dear
Reine
,
"
said
Bébée
,
scattering
the
potato-peels
to
the
clacking
poultry
,
and
she
smiled
into
the
faces
of
the
golden
oxlips
that
nodded
to
her
back
again
in
sunshiny
sympathy
.
"
Not
yet
,
"
said
Reine
,
hanging
her
last
shirt
.
But
Bébée
was
not
hearing
;
she
was
calling
the
chickens
,
and
telling
the
oxlips
how
pretty
they
looked
in
the
borders
;
and
in
her
heart
she
was
counting
the
minutes
till
the
old
Dutch
cuckoo-clock
at
Mère
Krebs
's
—
the
only
clock
in
the
lane
—
should
crow
out
the
hour
at
which
she
went
down
to
the
city
.
She
loved
the
hut
,
the
birds
,
the
flowers
;
but
they
were
little
to
her
now
compared
with
the
dark
golden
picturesque
square
,
the
changing
crowds
,
the
frowning
roofs
,
the
gray
stones
,
and
colors
and
shadows
of
the
throngs
for
one
face
and
for
one
smile
.
"
He
is
sure
to
be
there
,
"
she
thought
,
and
started
half
an
hour
earlier
than
was
her
wont
.
She
wanted
to
tell
him
all
her
rapture
in
the
book
;
no
one
else
could
understand
.
But
all
the
day
through
he
never
came
.
Bébée
sat
with
a
sick
heart
and
a
parched
little
throat
,
selling
her
flowers
and
straining
her
eyes
through
the
tumult
of
the
square
.
The
whole
day
went
by
,
and
there
was
no
sign
of
him
.
The
flowers
had
sold
well
:
it
was
a
feast
day
;
her
pouch
was
full
of
pence
—
what
was
that
to
her
?
She
went
and
prayed
in
the
cathedral
,
but
it
seemed
cold
,
and
desolate
,
and
empty
;
even
the
storied
windows
seemed
dark
.
"
Perhaps
he
is
gore
out
of
the
city
,
"
she
thought
;
and
a
terror
fell
on
her
that
frightened
her
,
it
was
so
unlike
any
fear
that
she
had
ever
known
—
even
the
fear
when
she
had
seen
death
on
old
Antoine
's
face
had
been
nothing
like
this
.
Going
home
through
the
streets
,
she
passed
the
café
of
the
Trois
Frères
that
looks
out
on
the
trees
of
the
park
,
and
that
has
flowers
in
its
balconies
,
and
pleasant
windows
that
stand
open
to
let
the
sounds
of
the
soldiers
'
music
enter
.
She
saw
him
in
one
of
the
windows
.
There
were
amber
and
scarlet
and
black
;
silks
and
satins
and
velvets
.
There
was
a
fan
painted
and
jewelled
.
There
were
women
's
faces
.
There
was
a
heap
of
purple
fruit
and
glittering
sweetmeats
.
He
laughed
there
.
His
beautiful
Murillo
head
was
dark
against
the
white
and
gold
within
.
Bébée
looked
up
,
—
paused
a
second
,
—
then
went
onward
,
with
a
thorn
in
her
heart
.
He
Had
not
seen
her
.
"
It
is
natural
,
of
course
—
he
has
his
world
—
he
does
not
think
often
of
me
—
there
is
no
reason
why
he
should
be
as
good
as
he
is
,
"
she
said
to
herself
as
she
went
slowly
over
the
stones
.
She
had
the
dog
's
soul
—
only
she
did
not
know
it
.
But
the
tears
Fell
down
her
cheeks
,
as
she
walked
.
It
looked
so
bright
in
there
,
so
gay
,
with
the
sound
of
the
music
coming
in
through
the
trees
,
and
those
women
,
—
she
had
seen
such
women
before
;
sometimes
in
the
winter
nights
,
going
home
from
the
lacework
,
she
had
stopped
at
the
doors
of
the
palaces
,
or
of
the
opera
house
,
when
the
carriages
were
setting
down
their
brilliant
burdens
;
and
sometimes
on
the
great
feast
days
she
had
seen
the
people
of
the
court
going
out
to
some
gala
at
the
theatre
,
or
some
great
review
of
troops
,
or
some
ceremonial
of
foreign
sovereigns
;
but
she
had
never
thought
about
them
before
;
she
had
never
wondered
whether
velvet
was
better
to
wear
than
woollen
serge
,
or-diamonds
lighter
on
the
head
than
a
little
cap
of
linen
.
But
now
—
Those
women
seemed
to
her
so
dazzling
,
so
wondrously
,
so
superhumanly
beautiful
;
they
seemed
like
some
of
those
new
dahlia
flowers
,
rose
and
purple
and
gold
,
that
outblazed
the
sun
on
the
south
border
of
her
little
garden
,
and
blanched
all
the
soft
color
out
of
the
homely
roses
,
and
pimpernels
,
and
sweet-williams
,
and
double-stocks
,
that
had
bloomed
there
ever
since
the
days
of
Waterloo
.
But
the
dahlias
had
no
scent
;
and
Bébée
wondered
if
these
women
had
any
heart
in
them
,
—
they
looked
all
laughter
,
and
glitter
,
and
vanity
.
To
the
child
,
whose
dreams
of
womanhood
were
evolved
from
the
face
of
the
Mary
of
the
Assumption
,
of
the
Susannah
of
Mieris
,
and
of
that
Angel
in
the
blue
coif
whose
face
has
a
light
as
of
the
sun
,
—
to
her
who
had
dreamed
her
way
into
vague
perceptions
of
her
own
sex
's
maidenhood
and
maternity
by
help
of
those
great
pictures
which
had
been
before
her
sight
from
infancy
,
there
was
some
taint
,
some
artifice
,
some
want
,
some
harshness
in
these
jewelled
women
;
she
could
not
have
reasoned
about
it
,
but
she
felt
it
,
as
she
felt
that
the
grand
dahlias
missed
a
flower
's
divinity
,
being
scentless
.
She
was
a
little
bit
of
wild
thyme
herself
;
hardy
,
fragrant
,
clean
,
tender
,
flowering
by
the
wayside
,
full
of
honey
,
though
only
nourished
on
the
turf
and
the
stones
,
these
gaudy
,
brilliant
,
ruby-bright
,
scarlet-mantled
dahlias
hurt
her
with
a
dim
sense
of
pain
and
shame
.
Fasting
,
next
day
at
sunrise
she
confessed
to
Father
Francis
:
—
"
I
saw
beautiful
rich
women
,
and
I
envied
them
;
and
I
could
not
pray
to
Mary
last
night
for
thinking
of
them
,
for
I
hated
them
so
much
.
"
But
she
did
not
say
,
—
"
I
hated
them
because
they
were
with
him
.
"
Out
of
the
purest
little
soul
,
Love
entering
drives
forth
Candor
.
"
That
is
not
like
you
at
all
,
Bébée
,
"
said
the
good
old
man
,
as
she
knelt
at
his
feet
on
the
bricks
of
his
little
bare
study
,
where
all
the
books
he
ever
spelt
out
were
treatises
on
the
art
of
bee-keeping
.
"
My
dear
,
you
never
were
covetous
at
all
,
nor
did
you
ever
seem
to
care
for
the
things
of
the
world
.
I
wish
Jehan
had
not
given
you
those
silver
buckles
;
I
think
they
have
set
your
little
soul
on
vanities
.
"
"
It
is
not
the
buckles
;
I
am
not
covetous
,
"
said
Bébée
;
and
then
her
face
grew
warm
.
She
did
not
know
why
.
and
she
did
not
hear
the
rest
of
Father
Francis
's
admonitions
.
CHAPTER
XIII
.
But
the
next
noon-time
brought
him
to
the
market
stall
,
and
the
next
also
,
and
so
the
summer
days
slipped
away
,
and
Bébée
was
quite
happy
if
she
saw
him
in
the
morning
time
,
to
give
him
a
fresh
rose
,
or
at
evening
by
the
gates
,
or
under
the
beech-trees
,
when
he
brought
her
a
new
book
,
and
sauntered
awhile
up
the
green
lane
beside
her
.
An
innocent
,
unconscious
love
like
Bébée
's
wants
so
little
food
to
make
it
all
content
.
Such
mere
trifles
are
beautiful
and
sweet
to
it
.
Such
slender
stray
gleams
of
light
suffice
to
make
a
broad
,
bright
golden
noon
of
perfect
joy
around
it
.
All
the
delirium
,
and
fever
,
and
desire
,
and
despair
,
that
are
in
maturer
passion
,
are
far
away
from
it
:
far
as
is
the
flash
of
the
meteor
across
sultry
skies
from
the
blue
forget-me-not
down
in
the
brown
meadow
brook
.
It
was
very
wonderful
to
Bébée
that
he
,
this
stranger
from
Rubes
'
fairyland
,
could
come
at
all
to
keep
pace
with
her
little
clattering
wooden
shoes
over
the
dust
and
the
grass
in
the
dim
twilight
time
.
The
days
went
by
in
a
trance
of
sweet
amaze
,
and
she
kept
count
of
the
hours
no
more
by
the
cuckoo-clock
of
the
mill-house
,
or
the
deep
chimes
of
the
Brussels
belfries
;
but
only
by
such
moments
as
brought
her
a
word
from
his
lips
,
or
even
a
glimpse
of
him
from
afar
,
across
the
crowded
square
.
She
sat
up
half
the
nights
reading
the
books
he
gave
her
,
studying
the
long
cruel
polysyllables
,
and
spelling
slowly
through
the
phrases
that
seemed
to
her
so
cramped
and
tangled
,
and
which
yet
were
a
pleasure
to
unravel
forsake
of
the
thought
they
held
.
For
Bébée
,
ignorant
little
simple
soul
that
she
was
,
had
a
mind
in
her
that
was
eager
,
observant
,
quick
to
acquire
,
skilful
to
retain
;
and
it
would
happen
in
certain
times
that
Flamen
,
speaking
to
her
of
the
things
which
he
gave
to
her
to
read
,
would
think
to
himself
that
this
child
had
more
wisdom
than
was
often
to
be
found
in
schools
.
Meanwhile
he
pondered
various
studies
in
various
stages
of
a
Gretchen
,
and
made
love
to
Bébée
—
made
love
at
least
by
his
eyes
and
by
his
voice
,
not
hurrying
his
pleasant
task
,
but
hovering
about
her
softly
,
and
mindful
not
to
scare
her
,
as
a
man
will
gently
lower
his
hand
over
a
poised
butterfly
that
he
seeks
to
kill
,
and
which
one
single
movement
,
a
thought
too
quick
,
may
scare
away
to
safety
.
Bébée
knew
where
he
lived
in
the
street
of
Mary
of
Burgundy
:
in
an
old
palace
that
belonged
to
a
great
Flemish
noble
,
who
never
dwelt
there
himself
;
but
to
ask
anything
about
him
—
why
he
was
there
?
what
his
rank
was
?
why
he
stayed
in
the
city
at
all
?
—
was
a
sort
of
treason
that
never
entered
her
thoughts
.
Psyche
,
if
she
had
been
as
simple
and
loyal
as
Bébée
was
,
would
never
have
lighted
her
own
candle
;
but
even
Psyche
would
not
have
borrowed
any
one
else
's
lamp
to
lighten
the
love
darkness
.
To
Bébée
he
was
sacred
,
unapproachable
,
unquestionable
;
he
was
a
wonderful
,
perfect
happiness
that
had
fallen
into
her
life
;
he
was
a
gift
of
God
,
as
the
sun
was
.
She
took
his
going
and
coming
as
she
took
that
of
the
sun
,
never
dreaming
of
reproaching
his
absence
,
never
dreaming
of
asking
if
in
the
empty
night
he
shone
on
any
other
worlds
than
hers
.
It
was
hardly
so
much
a
faith
with
her
as
an
instinct
;
faith
must
reason
ere
it
know
itself
to
be
faith
.
Bébée
never
reasoned
any
more
than
her
roses
did
.
The
good
folks
in
the
market
place
watched
her
a
little
anxiously
;
they
thought
ill
of
that
little
moss-rose
that
every
day
found
its
way
to
one
wearer
only
;
but
after
all
they
did
not
see
much
,
and
the
neighbors
nothing
at
all
.
For
he
never
went
home
to
her
,
nor
with
her
,
and
most
of
the
time
that
he
spent
with
Bébée
was
in
the
quiet
evening
shadows
,
as
she
went
up
with
her
empty
basket
through
the
deserted
country
roads
.
Bébée
was
all
day
long
in
the
city
,
indeed
,
as
other
girls
were
,
but
with
her
it
had
always
been
different
.
Antoine
had
always
been
with
her
up
to
the
day
of
his
death
;
and
after
his
death
she
had
sat
in
the
same
place
,
surrounded
by
the
people
she
had
known
from
infancy
,
and
an
insult
to
her
would
have
been
answered
by
a
stroke
from
the
cobbler
's
strap
or
from
the
tinker
's
hammer
.
There
was
one
girl
only
who
ever
tried
to
do
her
any
harm
—
a
good-looking
stout
wench
,
who
stood
at
the
corner
of
the
Montagne
de
la
Cour
with
a
stall
of
fruit
in
the
summer
time
,
and
in
winter
time
drove
a
milk
cart
over
the
snow
.
This
girl
would
get
at
her
sometimes
,
and
talk
of
the
students
,
and
tell
her
how
good
it
was
to
get
out
of
the
town
on
a
holiday
,
and
go
to
any
one
of
the
villages
where
there
was
Kermesse
and
dance
,
and
drink
the
little
blue
wine
,
and
have
trinkets
bought
for
one
,
and
come
home
in
the
moonlight
in
a
char-à-banc
,
with
the
horns
sounding
,
and
the
lads
singing
,
and
the
ribbons
flying
from
the
old
horse
's
ears
.
"
She
is
such
a
little
close
sly
thing
!
"
thought
the
fruit
girl
,
sulkily
.
To
vice
,
innocence
must
always
seem
only
a
superior
kind
of
chicanery
.
"
We
dance
almost
every
evening
,
the
children
and
I
,
"
Bébée
had
answered
when
urged
fifty
times
by
this
girl
to
go
to
fairs
,
and
balls
at
the
wine
shops
.
"
That
does
just
as
well
.
And
I
have
seen
Kermesse
once
at
Malines
—
it
was
beautiful
.
I
went
with
Mère
Dax
,
but
it
cost
a
great
deal
I
know
,
though
she
did
not
let
me
pay
.
"
"
You
little
fool
!
"
the
fruit
girl
would
say
,
and
grin
,
and
eat
a
pear
.
But
the
good
honest
old
women
who
sat
about
in
the
Grande
Place
,
hearing
,
had
always
taken
the
fruit
girl
to
task
,
when
they
got
her
by
herself
.
"
Leave
the
child
alone
,
you
mischievous
one
,
"
said
they
.
"
Be
content
with
being
base
yourself
.
Look
you
,
Lisette
;
she
is
not
one
like
you
to
make
eyes
at
the
law
students
,
and
pester
the
painter
lads
for
a
day
's
outing
.
Let
her
be
,
or
we
will
tell
your
mother
how
you
leave
the
fruit
for
the
gutter
children
to
pick
and
thieve
,
while
you
are
stealing
up
the
stairs
into
that
young
French
fellow
's
chamber
.
Oh
,
oh
!
a
fine
beating
you
will
get
when
she
knows
!
"
Lisette
's
mother
was
a
fierce
and
strong
old
Brabantoise
who
exacted
heavy
reckoning
with
her
daughter
for
every
single
plum
and
peach
that
she
sent
out
of
her
dark
sweet-smelling
fruit
shop
to
be
sunned
in
the
streets
,
and
under
the
students
'
love-glances
.
So
the
girl
took
heed
,
and
left
Bébée
alone
.
"
What
should
I
want
her
to
come
with
us
for
?
"
she
reasoned
with
herself
.
"
She
is
twice
as
pretty
as
I
am
;
Jules
might
take
to
her
instead
—
who
knows
?
"
So
that
she
was
at
once
savage
and
yet
triumphant
when
she
saw
,
as
she
thought
,
Bébée
drifting
down
the
high
flood
of
temptation
.
"
Oh
,
oh
,
you
dainty
one
!
"
she
cried
one
day
to
her
.
"
So
you
would
not
take
the
nuts
and
mulberries
that
do
for
us
common
folk
,
because
you
had
a
mind
for
a
fine
pine
out
of
the
hothouses
!
That
was
all
,
was
it
?
Eh
,
well
;
I
do
not
begrudge
you
.
Only
take
care
;
remember
,
the
nuts
and
mulberries
last
through
summer
and
autumn
,
and
there
are
heaps
of
them
on
every
fair-stall
and
street
corner
;
but
the
pine
,
that
is
eaten
in
a
day
,
one
springtime
,
and
its
like
does
not
grow
in
the
hedges
.
You
will
have
your
mouth
full
of
sugar
an
hour
,
—
and
then
,
eh
!
—
you
will
go
famished
all
the
year
.
"
"
I
do
not
understand
,
"
said
Bébée
,
looking
up
,
with
her
thoughts
far
away
,
and
scarcely
hearing
the
words
spoken
to
her
.
"
Oh
,
pretty
little
fool
!
you
understand
well
enough
,
"
said
Lisette
,
grinning
,
as
she
rubbed
up
a
melon
.
"
Does
he
give
you
fine
things
?
You
might
let
me
see
.
"
"
No
one
gives
me
anything
.
"
"
Chut
!
you
want
me
to
believe
that
.
Why
Jules
is
only
a
lad
,
and
his
father
is
a
silk
mercer
,
and
only
gives
him
a
hundred
francs
a
month
,
but
Jules
buys
me
all
I
want
—
somehow
—
or
do
you
think
I
would
take
the
trouble
to
set
my
cap
straight
when
he
goes
by
?
He
gave
me
these
ear-rings
,
look
.
I
wish
you
would
let
me
see
what
you
get
.
"
But
Bébée
had
gone
away
—
unheeding
—
dreaming
of
Juliet
and
of
Jeanne
d'Arc
,
of
whom
he
had
told
her
tales
.
He
made
sketches
of
her
sometimes
,
but
seldom
pleased
himself
.
It
was
not
so
easy
as
he
had
imagined
that
it
would
prove
to
portray
this
little
flower-like
face
,
with
the
clear
eyes
and
the
child
's
open
brow
.
He
who
had
painted
Phryne
so
long
and
faithfully
had
got
a
taint
on
his
brush
—
he
could
not
paint
this
pure
,
bright
,
rosy
dawn
—
he
who
had
always
painted
the
glare
of
midnight
gas
on
rouge
or
rags
.
Yet
he
felt
that
if
he
could
transfer
to
canvas
the
light
that
was
on
Bébée
's
face
he
would
get
what
Scheffer
had
missed
.
For
a
time
it
eluded
him
.
You
shall
paint
a
gold
and
glistening
brocade
,
or
a
fan
of
peacock
's
feathers
,
to
perfection
,
and
yet
,
perhaps
,
the
dewy
whiteness
of
the
humble
little
field
daisy
shall
baffle
and
escape
you
.
He
felt
,
too
,
that
he
must
catch
her
expression
flying
as
he
would
do
the
flash
of
a
swallow
's
wing
across
a
blue
sky
;
he
knew
that
Bébée
,
forced
to
studied
attitudes
in
an
atelier
,
would
be
no
longer
the
ideal
that
he
wanted
.
More
than
once
he
came
and
filled
in
more
fully
his
various
designs
in
the
little
hut
garden
,
among
the
sweet
gray
lavender
and
the
golden
disks
of
the
sunflowers
;
and
more
than
once
Bébée
was
missed
from
her
place
in
the
front
of
the
Broodhuis
.
The
Varnhart
children
would
gather
now
and
then
open-mouthed
at
the
wicket
,
and
Mère
Krebs
would
shake
her
head
as
she
went
by
on
her
sheepskin
saddle
,
and
mutter
that
the
child
's
head
would
be
turned
by
vanity
;
and
old
Jehan
would
lean
on
his
stick
and
peer
through
the
sweetbrier
,
and
wonder
stupidly
if
this
strange
man
who
could
make
Bébée
's
face
beam
over
again
upon
that
panel
of
wood
could
not
give
him
back
his
dead
daughter
who
had
been
pushed
away
under
the
black
earth
so
long
,
long
before
,
when
the
red
mill
had
been
brave
and
new
,
the
red
mill
that
the
boys
and
girls
called
old
.
But
except
these
,
no
one
noticed
much
.
Painters
were
no
rare
sights
in
Brabant
.
The
people
were
used
to
see
them
coming
and
going
,
making
pictures
of
mud
and
stones
,
and
ducks
and
sheep
,
and
of
all
common
and
silly
things
.
"
What
does
he
pay
you
,
Bébée
?
"
they
used
to
ask
,
with
the
shrewd
Flemish
thought
after
the
main
chance
.
"
Nothing
,
"
Bébée
would
answer
,
with
a
quick
color
in
her
face
;
and
they
would
reply
in
contemptuous
reproof
,
"
Careless
little
fool
;
you
should
make
enough
to
buy
you
wood
all
winter
.
When
the
man
from
Ghent
painted
Trine
and
her
cow
,
he
gave
her
a
whole
gold
bit
for
standing
still
so
long
in
the
clover
.
The
Krebs
would
be
sure
to
lend
you
her
cow
,
if
it
be
the
cow
that
makes
the
difference
.
"
Bébée
was
silent
,
weeding
her
carnation
bed
;
—
what
could
she
tell
them
that
they
would
understand
?
She
seemed
so
far
away
from
them
all
—
those
good
friends
of
her
childhood
—
now
that
this
wonderful
new
world
of
his
giving
had
opened
to
her
sight
.
She
lived
in
a
dream
.
Whether
she
sat
in
the
market
place
taking
copper
coins
,
or
in
the
moonlight
with
a
book
on
her
knees
,
it
was
all
the
same
.
Her
feet
ran
,
her
tongue
spoke
,
her
hands
worked
;
she
did
not
neglect
her
goat
or
her
garden
,
she
did
not
forsake
her
house
labor
or
her
good
deeds
to
old
Annémie
;
but
all
the
while
she
only
heard
one
voice
,
she
only
felt
one
touch
,
she
only
saw
one
face
.
Here
and
there
—
one
in
a
million
—
there
is
a
female
thing
that
can
love
like
this
,
once
and
forever
.
Such
an
one
is
dedicated
,
birth
upwards
,
to
the
Mater
Dolorosa
.
He
had
something
nearer
akin
to
affection
for
her
than
he
had
ever
had
in
his
life
for
anything
,
but
he
was
never
in
love
with
her
—
no
more
in
love
with
her
than
with
the
moss-rosebuds
that
she
fastened
in
his
breast
.
Yet
he
played
with
her
,
because
she
was
such
a
little
,
soft
,
tempting
female
thing
;
and
because
,
to
see
her
face
flush
,
and
her
heart
heave
,
to
feel
her
fresh
feelings
stir
into
life
,
and
to
watch
her
changes
from
shyness
to
confidence
,
and
from
frankness
again
into
fear
,
was
a
natural
pastime
in
the
lazy
golden
weather
.
That
he
spared
her
as
far
as
he
did
,
—
when
after
all
she
would
have
married
Jeannot
anyhow
,
—
and
that
he
sketched
her
face
in
the
open
air
,
and
never
entered
her
hut
and
never
beguiled
her
to
his
own
old
palace
in
the
city
,
was
a
new
virtue
in
himself
for
which
he
hardly
knew
whether
to
feel
respect
or
ridicule
;
anyway
,
it
seemed
virtue
to
him
.
So
long
as
he
did
not
seduce
the
body
,
it
seemed
to
him
that
it
could
never
matter
how
he
slew
the
soul
,
—
the
little
,
honest
,
happy
,
pure
,
frank
soul
,
that
amidst
its
poverty
and
hardships
was
like
a
robin
's
song
to
the
winter
sun
.
"
Hoot
,
toot
,
pretty
innocent
,
so
you
are
no
better
than
the
rest
of
us
,
"
hissed
her
enemy
,
Lisette
,
the
fruit
girl
,
against
her
as
she
went
by
the
stall
one
evening
as
the
sun
set
.
"
Prut
!
so
it
was
no
such
purity
after
all
that
made
you
never
look
at
the
student
lads
and
the
soldiers
,
eh
?
You
were
so
dainty
of
taste
,
you
must
needs
pick
and
choose
,
and
,
Lord
's
sake
,
after
all
your
coyness
,
to
drop
at
a
beckoning
finger
as
one
may
say
—
pong
!
—
in
a
minute
,
like
an
apple
over-ripe
!
Oh
hé
,
you
sly
one
!
"
Bébée
flushed
red
,
in
a
sort
of
instinct
of
offence
;
not
sure
what
her
fault
was
,
but
vaguely
stung
by
the
brutal
words
.
Bébée
walked
homeward
by
him
,
with
her
empty
baskets
:
looked
at
him
with
grave
wondering
eyes
.
"
What
did
she
mean
?
I
do
not
understand
.
I
must
have
done
some
wrong
—
or
she
thinks
so
.
Do
you
know
?
"
Flamen
laughed
,
and
answered
her
evasively
,
—
"
You
have
done
her
the
wrong
of
a
fair
skin
when
hers
is
brown
,
and
a
little
foot
while
hers
is
as
big
as
a
trooper
's
;
there
is
no
greater
sin
,
Bébée
,
possible
in
woman
to
woman
.
"
"
Hold
your
peace
,
you
shrill
jade
,
"
he
added
,
in
anger
to
the
fruiterer
,
flinging
at
her
a
crown
piece
,
that
the
girl
caught
,
and
bit
with
her
teeth
with
a
chuckle
.
"
Do
not
heed
her
,
Bébée
.
She
is
a
coarse-tongued
brute
,
and
is
jealous
,
no
doubt
.
"
"
Jealous
?
—
of
what
?
"
The
word
had
no
meaning
to
Bébée
.
"
That
I
am
not
a
student
or
a
soldier
,
as
her
lovers
are
.
"
As
her
lovers
were
!
Bébée
felt
her
face
burn
again
.
Was
he
her
lover
then
?
The
child
's
innocent
body
and
soul
thrilled
with
a
hot
,
sweet
delight
and
fear
commingled
.
Bébée
was
not
quite
satisfied
until
she
had
knelt
down
that
night
and
asked
the
Master
of
all
poor
maidens
to
see
if
there
were
any
wickedness
in
her
heart
,
hidden
there
like
a
bee
in
a
rose
,
and
if
there
were
to
take
it
out
and
make
her
worthier
of
this
wonderful
new
happiness
in
her
life
.
CHAPTER
XIV
.
The
next
day
,
waking
with
a
radiant
little
soul
as
a
bird
in
a
forest
wakes
in
summer
Bébée
was
all
alone
in
the
lane
by
the
swans
'
water
.
In
the
gray
of
the
dawn
all
the
good
folk
except
herself
and
lame
old
Jehan
had
tramped
off
to
a
pilgrimage
,
Liége
way
,
which
the
bishop
of
the
city
had
enjoined
on
all
the
faithful
as
a
sacred
duty
.
Bébée
doing
her
work
,
singing
,
thinking
how
good
God
was
,
and
dreaming
over
a
thousand
fancies
of
the
wonderful
stories
he
had
told
her
,
and
of
the
exquisite
delight
that
would
lie
for
her
in
watching
for
him
all
through
the
shining
hours
,
Bébée
felt
her
little
heart
leap
like
a
squirrel
as
the
voice
that
was
the
music
of
heaven
to
her
called
through
the
stillness
,
—
"
Good
day
,
pretty
one
!
you
are
as
early
as
the
lark
,
Bébée
.
I
go
to
Mayence
,
so
I
thought
I
would
look
at
you
one
moment
as
I
pass
.
"
Bébée
ran
down
through
the
wet
grass
in
a
tumult
of
joy
.
She
had
never
seen
him
so
early
in
the
day
—
never
so
early
as
this
,
when
nobody
was
up
and
stirring
except
birds
and
beasts
and
peasant
folk
.
She
did
not
know
how
pretty
she
looked
herself
;
like
a
rain-washed
wild
rose
;
her
feet
gleaming
with
dew
,
her
cheeks
warm
with
health
and
joy
;
her
sunny
clustering
hair
free
from
the
white
cap
and
tumbling
a
little
about
her
throat
,
because
she
had
been
stooping
over
the
carnations
.
Flamen
loosed
the
wicket
latch
,
and
thought
there
might
be
better
ways
of
spending
the
day
than
in
the
gray
shadows
of
old
Mechlin
.
"
Will
you
give
me
a
draught
of
water
?
"
he
asked
her
as
he
crossed
the
garden
.
"
I
will
give
you
breakfast
,
"
said
Bébée
,
happy
as
a
bird
.
She
felt
no
shame
for
the
smallness
of
her
home
;
no
confusion
at
the
poverty
of
her
little
place
;
such
embarrassments
are
born
of
self-consciousness
,
and
Bébée
had
no
more
self-consciousness
than
her
own
sweet
,
gray
lavender-bush
blowing
against
the
door
.
The
lavender-bush
has
no
splendor
like
the
roses
,
has
no
colors
like
the
hollyhocks
;
it
is
a
simple
,
plain
,
gray
thing
that
the
bees
love
and
that
the
cottagers
cherish
,
and
that
keeps
the
moth
from
the
homespun
linen
,
and
that
goes
with
the
dead
to
their
graves
.
It
has
many
virtues
and
infinite
sweetness
,
but
it
does
not
know
it
or
think
of
it
;
and
if
the
village
girls
ever
tell
it
so
,
it
fancies
they
only
praise
it
out
of
kindness
as
they
put
its
slender
fragrant
spears
away
in
their
warm
bosoms
.
Bébée
was
like
her
lavender
,
and
now
that
this
beautiful
Purple
Emperor
butterfly
came
from
the
golden
sunbeams
to
find
pleasure
for
a
second
in
her
freshness
,
she
was
only
very
grateful
,
as
the
lavender-bush
was
to
the
village
girls
.
"
I
will
give
you
your
breakfast
,
"
said
Bébée
,
flushing
rosily
with
pleasure
,
and
putting
away
the
ivy
coils
that
he
might
enter
.
"
I
have
very
little
,
you
know
,
"
she
added
,
wistfully
.
"
Only
goat
's
milk
and
bread
;
but
if
that
will
do
—
and
there
is
some
honey
—
and
if
you
would
eat
a
salad
,
I
would
cut
one
fresh
.
"
He
did
enter
,
and
glanced
round
him
with
a
curious
pity
and
wonder
both
in
one
.
It
was
such
a
little
,
small
,
square
place
;
and
its
floor
was
of
beaten
clay
;
and
its
unceiled
roof
he
could
have
touched
;
and
its
absolute
poverty
was
so
plain
,
—
and
yet
the
child
looked
so
happy
in
it
,
and
was
so
like
a
flower
,
and
was
so
dainty
and
fresh
,
and
even
so
full
of
grace
.
She
stood
and
looked
at
him
with
frank
and
grateful
eyes
;
she
could
hardly
believe
that
he
was
here
;
he
,
the
stranger
of
Rubes
'
land
,
in
her
own
little
rush-covered
home
.
But
she
was
not
embarrassed
by
it
;
she
was
glad
and
proud
.
There
is
a
dignity
of
peasants
as
well
as
of
kings
,
—
the
dignity
that
comes
from
all
absence
of
effort
,
all
freedom
from
pretence
.
Bébée
had
this
,
and
she
had
more
still
than
this
:
she
had
the
absolute
simplicity
of
childhood
with
her
still
.
Some
women
have
it
still
when
they
are
four-score
.
She
could
have
looked
at
him
forever
,
she
was
so
happy
;
she
cared
nothing
now
for
those
dazzling
dahlias
—
he
had
left
them
;
he
was
actually
here
—
here
in
her
own
,
little
dear
home
,
with
the
cocks
looking
in
at
the
threshold
,
and
the
sweet-peas
nodding
at
the
lattice
,
and
the
starling
crying
,
"
Bonjour
!
Bonjour
!
"
"
You
are
tired
,
I
am
sure
you
must
be
tired
,
"
she
said
,
pulling
her
little
bed
forward
for
him
to
sit
on
,
for
there
were
only
two
wooden
stools
in
the
hut
,
and
no
chair
at
all
.
Then
she
took
his
sketching-easel
and
brushes
from
his
hand
,
and
would
have
kneeled
and
taken
the
dust
off
his
boots
if
he
would
have
let
her
;
and
went
hither
and
thither
gladly
and
lightly
,
bringing
him
a
wooden
bowl
of
milk
and
the
rest
of
the
slender
fare
,
and
cutting
as
quick
as
thought
fresh
cresses
and
lettuce
from
her
garden
,
and
bringing
him
,
as
the
crown
of
all
,
Father
Francis
's
honey-comb
on
vine-leaves
,
with
some
pretty
sprays
of
box
and
mignonette
scattered
about
it
—
doing
all
this
with
a
swift
,
sweet
grace
that
robbed
the
labor
of
all
look
of
servitude
,
and
looking
at
him
ever
and
again
with
a
smile
that
said
as
clearly
as
any
words
,
"
I
cannot
do
much
,
but
what
I
do
,
I
do
with
all
my
heart
.
"
There
was
something
in
the
sight
of
her
going
and
coming
in
those
simple
household
errands
,
across
the
sunlit
floor
,
that
moved
him
as
some
mountain
air
sung
on
an
alp
by
a
girl
driving
her
cows
to
pasture
may
move
a
listener
who
indifferent
has
heard
the
swell
of
the
organ
of
La
Hague
,
or
the
recitative
of
a
great
singer
in
San
Carlo
.
The
gray
lavender
blowing
at
the
house
door
has
its
charm
for
those
who
are
tired
of
the
camellias
that
float
in
the
porcelain
bowls
of
midnight
suppers
.
This
man
was
not
good
.
He
was
idle
and
vain
,
and
amorous
and
cold
,
and
had
been
spoiled
by
the
world
in
which
he
had
passed
his
days
;
but
he
had
the
temper
of
an
artist
:
he
had
something
,
too
,
of
a
poet
's
fancy
;
he
was
vaguely
touched
and
won
by
this
simple
soul
that
looked
at
him
out
of
Bébée
's
eyes
with
some
look
that
in
all
its
simplicity
had
a
divine
gleam
in
it
that
made
him
half
ashamed
.
He
had
known
women
by
the
thousand
,
good
women
and
bad
;
women
whom
he
had
dealt
ill
with
and
women
who
had
dealt
ill
with
him
;
but
this
he
had
not
known
—
this
frank
,
fearless
,
tender
,
gay
,
grave
,
innocent
,
industrious
little
life
,
helping
itself
,
feeding
itself
,
defending
itself
,
working
for
itself
and
for
others
,
and
vaguely
seeking
all
the
while
some
unseen
light
,
some
unknown
god
,
with
a
blind
faith
so
infinitely
ignorant
and
yet
so
infinitely
pathetic
.
"
All
the
people
are
gone
on
a
pilgrimage
,
"
she
explained
to
him
when
he
asked
her
why
her
village
was
so
silent
this
bright
morning
.
"
They
are
gone
to
pray
for
a
fine
harvest
,
and
that
she
wants
herself
as
well
—
it
costs
seven
francs
apiece
.
They
take
their
food
with
them
;
they
go
and
laugh
and
eat
in
the
fields
.
I
think
it
is
nonsense
.
One
can
say
one
's
prayers
just
as
well
here
.
Mère
Krebs
thinks
so
too
,
but
then
she
says
,
'
If
I
do
not
go
,
it
will
look
ill
;
people
will
say
I
am
irreligious
;
and
as
we
make
so
much
by
flour
,
God
would
think
it
odd
for
me
to
be
absent
;
and
,
besides
,
it
is
only
seven
francs
there
and
back
;
and
if
it
does
please
Heaven
,
that
is
cheap
,
you
know
.
One
will
get
it
over
and
over
again
in
Paradise
.
'
That
is
what
Mere
Krebs
says
.
But
,
for
me
,
I
think
it
is
nonsense
.
It
cannot
please
God
to
go
by
train
and
eat
galette
and
waste
a
whole
day
in
getting
dusty
.
"
When
I
give
the
Virgin
my
cactus
flower
,
I
do
give
up
a
thing
I
love
,
and
I
let
it
wither
on
her
altar
instead
of
pleasing
me
in
bloom
here
all
the
week
,
and
then
,
of
course
,
she
sees
that
I
have
done
it
out
of
gratitude
.
But
that
is
different
:
that
I
am
sorry
to
do
,
and
yet
I
am
glad
to
do
it
out
of
love
.
Do
you
not
know
?
"
"
Yes
,
I
know
very
well
.
But
is
the
Virgin
all
that
you
love
like
this
?
"
"
No
;
there
is
the
garden
,
and
there
is
Antoine
—
he
is
dead
,
I
know
.
But
I
think
that
we
should
love
the
dead
all
the
better
,
not
the
less
,
because
they
cannot
speak
or
say
that
they
are
angry
;
and
perhaps
one
pains
them
very
much
when
one
neglects
them
,
and
if
they
are
ever
so
sad
,
they
cannot
rise
and
rebuke
one
—
that
is
why
I
would
rather
forget
the
flowers
for
the
Church
than
I
would
the
flowers
for
his
grave
,
because
God
can
punish
me
,
of
course
,
if
he
like
,
but
Antoine
never
can
—
any
more
—
now
.
"
"
You
are
logical
in
your
sentiment
,
my
dear
,
"
said
Flamen
,
who
was
more
moved
than
he
cared
to
feel
.
"
The
union
is
a
rare
one
in
your
sex
.
Who
taught
you
to
reason
?
"
"
No
one
.
And
I
do
not
know
what
to
be
logical
means
.
Is
it
that
you
laugh
at
me
?
"
"
No.
I
do
not
laugh
.
And
your
pilgrims
—
they
are
gone
for
all
day
?
"
"
Yes
.
They
are
gone
to
the
Sacred
Heart
at
St.
Marie
en
Bois
.
It
is
on
the
way
to
Liége
.
They
will
come
back
at
nightfall
.
And
some
of
them
will
be
sure
to
have
drunk
too
much
,
and
the
children
will
get
so
cross
.
Prosper
Bar
,
who
is
a
Calvinist
,
always
says
,
'
Do
not
mix
up
prayer
and
play
;
you
would
not
cut
a
gherkin
in
your
honey
'
;
but
I
do
not
know
why
he
called
prayer
a
gherkin
,
because
it
is
sweet
enough
—
sweeter
than
anything
,
I
think
.
When
I
pray
to
the
Virgin
to
let
me
see
you
next
day
,
I
go
to
bed
quite
happy
,
because
she
will
do
it
,
I
know
,
if
it
will
be
good
for
me
.
"
"
But
if
it
were
not
good
for
you
,
Bébée
?
Would
you
cease
to
wish
it
then
?
"
He
rose
as
he
spoke
,
and
went
across
the
floor
and
drew
away
her
hand
that
was
parting
the
flax
,
and
took
it
in
his
own
and
stroked
it
,
indulgently
and
carelessly
,
as
a
man
may
stroke
the
soft
fur
of
a
young
cat
.
Leaning
against
the
little
lattice
and
looking
down
on
her
with
musing
eyes
,
half
smiling
,
half
serious
,
half
amorous
,
half
sad
,
Bébée
looked
up
with
a
sudden
and
delicious
terror
that
ran
through
her
as
the
charm
of
the
snake
's
gaze
runs
through
the
bewildered
bird
.
"
Would
you
cease
to
wish
it
if
it
were
not
good
?
"
he
asked
again
.
Bébée
's
face
grew
pale
and
troubled
.
She
left
her
hand
in
his
because
she
did
not
think
any
shame
of
his
taking
it
.
But
the
question
suddenly
flung
the
perplexity
and
darkness
of
doubt
into
the
clearness
of
her
pure
child
's
conscience
.
All
her
ways
had
been
straight
and
sunlit
before
her
.
She
had
never
had
a
divided
duty
.
The
religion
and
the
pleasure
of
her
simple
little
life
had
always
gone
hand-in-hand
,
greeting
one
another
,
and
never
for
an
instant
in
conflict
.
In
any
hesitation
of
her
own
she
had
always
gone
to
Father
Francis
,
and
he
had
disentangled
the
web
for
her
and
made
all
plain
.
But
here
was
a
difficulty
in
which
she
could
never
go
to
Father
Francis
.
Right
and
wrong
,
duty
and
desire
,
were
for
the
first
time
arrayed
before
her
in
their
ghastly
and
unending
warfare
.
It
frightened
her
with
a
certain
breathless
sense
of
peril
—
the
peril
of
a
time
when
in
lieu
of
that
gentle
Mother
of
Roses
whom
she
kneeled
to
among
the
flowers
,
she
would
only
see
a
dusky
shadow
looming
between
her
and
the
beauty
of
life
and
the
light
of
the
sun
.
What
he
said
was
quite
vague
to
her
.
She
attached
no
definite
danger
to
his
words
.
She
only
thought
—
to
see
him
was
so
great
a
joy
—
if
Mary
forbade
it
,
would
she
not
take
it
if
she
could
notwithstanding
,
always
,
always
,
always
?
He
kept
her
hand
in
his
,
and
watched
with
contentment
the
changing
play
of
the
shade
and
sorrow
,
the
fear
and
fascination
,
on
her
face
.
"
You
do
not
know
,
Bébée
?
"
he
said
at
length
,
knowing
well
himself
;
so
much
better
than
ever
she
knew
.
"
Well
,
dear
,
that
is
not
flattering
to
me
.
But
it
is
natural
.
The
good
Virgin
of
course
gives
you
all
you
have
,
food
,
and
clothes
,
and
your
garden
,
and
your
pretty
plump
chickens
;
and
I
am
only
a
stranger
.
You
could
not
offend
her
for
me
;
that
is
not
likely
.
"
The
child
was
cut
to
the
heart
by
the
sadness
and
humility
of
words
of
whose
studied
artifice
she
had
no
suspicion
.
She
thought
that
she
seemed
to
him
ungrateful
and
selfish
,
and
yet
all
the
mooring-ropes
that
held
her
little
boat
of
life
to
the
harbor
of
its
simple
religion
seemed
cut
away
,
and
she
seemed
drifting
helpless
and
rudderless
upon
an
unknown
sea
.
"
I
never
did
do
wrong
—
that
I
know
,
"
she
said
,
timidly
,
and
lifted
her
eyes
to
his
with
an
unconscious
appeal
in
them
.
"
But
—
I
do
not
see
why
it
should
be
wrong
to
speak
with
you
.
You
are
good
,
and
you
lend
me
beautiful
things
out
of
other
men
's
minds
that
will
make
me
less
ignorant
:
Our
Lady
could
not
be
angry
with
that
—
she
must
like
it
.
"
"
Our
Lady
?
—
oh
,
poor
little
simpleton
!
—
where
will
her
reign
be
when
Ignorance
has
once
been
cut
down
root
and
branch
?
"
he
thought
to
himself
:
but
he
only
answered
,
—
"
But
whether
she
like
it
or
not
,
Bébée
?
—
you
beg
the
question
,
my
dear
;
you
are
—
you
are
not
so
frank
as
usual
—
think
,
and
tell
me
honestly
?
"
He
knew
quite
well
,
but
it
amused
him
to
see
the
perplexed
trouble
that
this
,
the
first
divided
duty
of
her
short
years
,
brought
with
it
.
Bébée
looked
at
him
,
and
loosened
her
hand
from
his
,
and
sat
quite
still
.
Her
lips
had
a
little
quiver
in
them
.
"
I
think
.
"
she
said
at
last
,
"
I
think
—
if
it
be
wrong
,
still
I
will
wish
it
—
yes
.
Only
I
will
not
tell
myself
it
is
right
.
I
will
just
say
to
Our
Lady
,
'
I
am
wicked
,
perhaps
,
but
I
cannot
help
it
'
So
,
I
will
not
deceive
her
at
all
;
and
perhaps
in
time
she
may
forgive
.
But
I
think
you
only
say
it
to
try
me
.
It
cannot
,
I
am
sure
,
be
wrong
—
any
more
than
it
is
to
talk
to
Jeannot
or
to
Bac
.
"
He
had
driven
her
into
the
subtleties
of
doubt
,
but
the
honest
little
soul
in
her
found
a
way
out
,
as
a
flower
in
a
cellar
finds
its
way
through
the
stones
to
light
.
He
plucked
the
ivy
leaves
and
threw
them
at
the
chickens
on
the
bricks
without
,
with
a
certain
impatience
in
the
action
.
The
simplicity
and
the
directness
of
the
answer
disarmed
him
;
he
was
almost
ashamed
to
use
against
her
the
weapons
of
his
habitual
warfare
.
It
was
like
a
maître
d'armes
fencing
with
bare
steel
against
a
little
naked
child
armed
with
a
blest
palm-sheaf
.
When
she
had
thus
brought
him
all
she
had
,
and
he
to
please
her
had
sat
down
to
the
simple
food
,
she
gathered
a
spray
of
roses
and
set
it
in
a
pot
beside
him
,
then
left
him
and
went
and
stood
at
a
little
distance
,
waiting
,
with
her
hands
lightly
crossed
on
her
chest
,
to
see
if
there
were
anything
that
he
might
want
.
He
ate
and
drank
well
to
please
her
,
looking
at
her
often
as
he
did
so
.
"
I
break
your
bread
,
Bébée
,
"
he
said
,
with
a
tone
that
seemed
strange
to
her
,
—
"
I
break
your
bread
.
I
must
keep
Arab
faith
with
you
.
"
"
What
is
that
?
"
"
I
mean
—
I
must
never
betray
you
.
"
"
Betray
me
How
could
you
?
"
"
Well
—
hurt
you
in
any
way
.
"
"
Ah
,
I
am
sure
you
would
never
do
that
.
"
He
was
silent
,
and
looked
at
the
spray
of
roses
.
"
Sit
down
and
spin
,
"
he
said
impatiently
.
"
I
am
ashamed
to
see
you
stand
there
,
and
a
woman
never
looks
so
well
as
when
she
spins
.
Sit
down
,
and
I
will
eat
the
good
things
you
have
brought
me
.
But
I
cannot
if
you
stand
and
look
.
"
"
I
beg
your
pardon
.
I
did
not
know
,
"
she
said
,
ashamed
lest
she
should
have
seemed
rude
to
him
;
and
she
drew
out
her
wheel
under
the
light
of
the
lattice
,
and
sat
down
to
it
,
and
began
to
disentangle
the
threads
.
It
was
a
pretty
picture
—
the
low
,
square
casement
;
the
frame
of
ivy
,
the
pink
and
white
of
the
climbing
sweet-peas
:
the
girl
's
head
;
the
cool
,
wet
leaves
:
the
old
wooden
spinning-wheel
,
that
purred
like
a
sleepy
cat
.
"
I
want
to
paint
you
as
Gretchen
,
only
it
will
be
a
shame
.
"
he
said
.
"
Who
is
Gretchen
?
"
"
You
shall
read
of
her
by-and-by
.
And
you
live
here
all
by
yourself
?
"
"
Since
Antoine
died
—
yes
.
"
"
And
are
never
dull
?
"
"
I
have
no
time
,
and
I
do
not
think
I
would
be
if
I
had
time
—
there
is
so
much
to
think
of
,
and
one
never
can
understand
.
"
"
But
you
must
be
very
brave
and
laborious
to
do
all
your
work
yourself
.
Is
it
possible
a
child
like
you
can
spin
,
and
wash
,
and
bake
,
and
garden
,
and
do
everything
?
"
"
Oh
,
many
do
more
than
I
.
Babette
's
eldest
daughter
is
only
twelve
,
and
she
does
much
more
,
because
she
has
all
the
children
to
look
after
;
and
they
are
very
,
very
poor
;
they
often
have
nothing
but
a
stew
of
nettles
and
perhaps
a
few
snails
,
days
together
.
"
"
That
is
lean
,
bare
,
ugly
,
gruesome
poverty
;
there
is
plenty
of
that
everywhere
.
But
you
,
Bébée
—
you
are
an
idyll
.
"
Bébée
looked
across
the
hut
and
smiled
,
and
broke
her
thread
.
She
did
not
know
what
he
meant
,
but
if
she
were
anything
that
pleased
him
,
it
was
well
.
"
Who
were
those
beautiful
women
?
"
she
said
suddenly
,
the
color
mounting
into
her
cheeks
.
"
What
women
,
my
dear
?
"
"
Those
I
saw
at
the
window
with
you
,
the
other
night
—
they
had
jewels
