my stew," said Rosalie.

"But ..." hesitated Perrine.

"You don't like to take it; you can. I asked my grandmother, and it's
all right."

In that case Perrine thought that she should accept this hospitality, so
she sat down at the table opposite her new friend.

"And it's all arranged about your lodging here," said Rosalie, with her
mouth full of stew. "You've only to give your twenty-eight sous to
grandmother. That's where you'll be."

Rosalie pointed to a house a part of which could be seen at the end of
the yard; the rest of it was hidden by the brick house. It looked such a
dilapidated old place that one wondered how it still held together.

"My grandmother lived there before she built this house," explained
Rosalie. "She did it with the money that she got when she was nurse for
Monsieur Edmond. You won't be comfortable down there as you would in
this house, but factory hands can't live like rich people, can they?"

Perrine agreed that they could not.

At another table, standing a little distance from theirs, a man about
forty years of age, grave, stiff, wearing a coat buttoned up and a high
hat, was reading a small book with great attention.

"That's Mr. Bendit; he's reading his Bible," whispered Rosalie.

Then suddenly, with no respect for the gentleman's occupation, she said:
"Monsieur Bendit, here's a girl who speaks English."

"Ah!" he said, without raising his eyes from his Bible.

Two minutes elapsed before he lifted his eyes and turned them to
Perrine.

"Are you an English girl?" he asked in English.

"No, but my mother was," replied Perrine in the same language.

Without another word he went on with his reading.

They were just finishing their supper when a carriage coming along the
road stopped at the gate.

"Why, it's Monsieur Vulfran in his carriage!" cried Rosalie, getting up
from her seat and running to the gate.

Perrine did not dare leave her place, but she looked towards the road.

Two people were in the buggy. A young man was driving for an old man
with white hair, who, although seated, seemed to be very tall. It was M.
Paindavoine.

Rosalie went up to the buggy.

"Here is someone," said the young man, who was about to get out.

"Who is it?" demanded M. Paindavoine.

It was Rosalie who replied to this question.

"It's Rosalie, monsieur," she said.

"Tell your grandmother to come and speak to me," said the gentleman.

Rosalie ran to the house and came hurrying back w