The man looked up, an expression of wonder on his face.
“How did monsieur know? Aïe, it is true! I am alone. We were on our way hither in quest of the new liberty; and God, pitying her weary feet, gave it her when but half the journey was done.”
“And the little child? Oh, my friend—perhaps she heard the little child crying for her in the night?”
“It is true, monsieur. But they will never be able to play birds’-fly or shadow-buff in the moonlight up there without me. The rogue and the little mother! And I hear them talking all the night through, wondering when I shall come.”
“And you do not complain?”
“Why should I complain? They are so safe at last. Think what it would have meant to them had God called me first.”
“Yes, yes. And—what is your name? You have never told me your name.”
“It is Laurent, monsieur. One is enough for us Cagots.”
“Laurent; what has become of the woman you brought, of your charity, to Paris?”
“Merciful God! Monsieur is a wizard. Indeed, she found her reward in the meeting with an old friend, who took her away from me.”