She gave a bad little laugh.
“One who would sell his honour should at least keep his wits. Well, monsieur, I have nothing with which to reward your service of runner, so——”
“A meal and a drink of water will repay me, mademoiselle.”
“You can help yourself. Do you think I keep a larder in the forest?”
“But you eat?”
“My table is spread under the chestnut-trees and over the bushes. I leave its selection to my friends yonder. Sometimes they will present me with a truffle for feast-days.”
I regarded the proud child with some quaintness of pity. This repelling manner was doubtless a mask over much unhappiness.
“I have still something left in my satchel,” I said. “Will mademoiselle honour me by sharing it?”
The light jumped in her eyes.
“I do not know,” she said. “What is its nature?”