“Truly, little girl; I am a wanderer now, and proscribed because I would not lend myself to thy Michel’s punishment.”
“Oh!” she sobbed, “but it was cruel. And the Republic destroys its own children, m’sieu’.”
“Thy father——?”
“Ah! he, at least, is back, if still under surveillance; otherwise I should not be enabled to come daily to minister to the needs of this poor lonely old man.”
“Now thou art a good soul, thou little aubergiste. And thy ministrations are meat to him, I perceive.”
“Hush, m’sieu’! but if he were to hear? He asks no questions, he accepts all like a child. He would die of shame were he to learn that he owes his dinner to the gratitude of m’sieu’ his father’s dependant.”
“Is he so sensitive? Thou great little Georgette! And mademoiselle—she does not return?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me where she is, child; for I believe you know.”
“Oh!” she murmured, obviously in great distress, “m’sieu’ must not ask me.”