"I do not know any man who would grieve," she made answer indifferently.
"But you might," and a peculiar smile settled about his lips.
"I am going to take home as many of these plums as I can carry. Madame Destournier is not well, and has a great longing for different things. I found some splendid berries yesterday which she ate with a relish. Sickness gives one many desires. I am glad I am always well. At least I was never ill but once, and that was long ago."
She sprang up and began to look about her. "If I could find some large leaves——"
"I will fill my pockets."
She looked helplessly at her own garments, and then colored vividly, thinking if this young man were not here she would gather a lapful. Why should she have this strange consciousness?
Nothing of service met her gaze, and she drew her brow into a little frown. It gave her a curious piquancy, and interested him. She had spirit.
"Oh, I know! What a dullard I was. Those great flaring dockweeds do not grow about here. But something else will answer."
She ran over to an old birch tree and tore off great pieces of bark, then gathering some half-dried grasses, began to fashion a sort of pail, bending up the edges to make the bottom. She was so quick and deft, it was a pleasure to watch her. Then she filled it with the choicest of the fruit. There was still some left.
"We might have another feast," he suggested.