“Long train. Many cars,” she explained slowly.
Dame Gagnier’s eyes followed the pointing finger.
“Yes. It is a pilgrimage,” she answered.
The girl scrambled to her feet.
“Really? A pilgrimage! I thought it was too late in the season. Do you suppose there will be a miracle?” she questioned eagerly.
Under the wide hat, the eyes lighted and the wrinkled lips puckered into a smile.
“Mam’selle does not believe in those miracle,” Madame Gagnier reminded her.
Nancy’s shoulders shaped themselves into an American travesty of the inimitable French shrug.
“I am always open to conviction,” she announced calmly.
“Eh?”