Téphany did not dare to disobey, but with a heavy heart went down the path to the river.
'She is harder than these rocks,' said the girl to herself, 'yes, a thousand times harder. For the rain at least can at last wear away the stone, but you might cry for ever, and she would never care. Talking to Denis is the only pleasure I have, and if I am not to see him I may as well enter a convent.'
Thinking these thoughts she reached the bank, and began to unfold the large packet of linen that had to be washed. The tap of a stick made her look up, and standing before her she saw a little old woman, whose face was strange to her.
'You would like to sit down and rest, granny?' asked Téphany, pushing aside her bundle.
'When the sky is all the roof you have, you rest where you will,' replied the old woman in trembling tones.
'Are you so lonely, then?' inquired Téphany, full of pity. 'Have you no friends who would welcome you into their houses?'
The old woman shook her head.
'They all died long, long ago,' she answered, 'and the only friends I have are strangers with kind hearts.'
The girl did not speak for a moment, then held out the small loaf and some bacon intended for her dinner.
'Take this,' she said; 'to-day at any rate you shall dine well,' and the old woman took it, gazing at Téphany the while.