"He is not there?... He has not gone to denounce me, has he?"

"No, no, my child. You could not find a more honest soul than that old
madman."

Athenais asked in what the old fellow's madness consisted; and when
Brotteaux informed her it was religion, she gravely reproached him for
speaking so, declaring that men without faith were worse than the beasts
that perish and that for her part she often prayed to God, hoping He
would forgive her her sins and receive her in His blessed mercy.

Then, noticing that Brotteaux held a book in his hand, she thought it
was a book of the Mass and said:

"There you see, you too, you say your prayers! God will reward you for
what you have done for me."

Brotteaux having told her that it was not a Mass-book, and that it had
been written before ever the Mass had been invented in the world, she
opined it was an _Interpretation of Dreams_, and asked if it did not
contain an explanation of an extraordinary dream she had had. She could
not read and these were the only two sorts of books she had heard tell
of.

Brotteaux informed her that this book was only by way of explaining the
dream of life. Finding this a hard saying, the pretty child did not try
to understand it and dipped the end of her nose in the earthenware crock
that replaced the silver basins Brotteaux had once been accustomed to
use. Next, she arranged her hair before her host's shaving-glass with
scrupulous care and gravity. Her white arms raised above her head, she
let fall an observation from time to time with long intervals between:

"You, you were rich once."

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. But you _were_ rich,--and you are an aristocrat, I am
certain of it."

She drew from her pocket a little Holy Virgin of silver in a round ivory
shrine, a bit of sugar, thread, scissors, a flint and steel, two or
three cases for needles and the like, and after selecting what she
required, sat down to mend her skirt, which had got torn in several
places.

"For your own safety, my child, put this in your cap!" Brotteaux bade
her, handing her a tricolour cockade.

"I will do that gladly, sir," she agreed, "but it will be for the love
of you and not for love of the Nation."

When she was dressed and had made herself look her best, taking her
skirt in both hands, she dropped a curtsey as she had been taught to do
in her village, and addressing Brotteaux:

"Sir," she said, "I am your very humble servant."

She