The clover-bearer passed on, with a little ambiguous laugh.
“And she is a saint?” said Ned.
“Half a saint, by monsieur’s permission—a sweet bon-chrétien with one cheek to the sun and one to the convent wall.”
“And presently to fall of her own sweetness, no doubt.”
To his surprise the girl drew herself up haughtily at his words.
“You exceed the bounds of insolence, monsieur,” she said frigidly. “It is like blasphemy so to speak of Nicette Legrand. And what authority has monsieur for his statement?”
“How can I have any, Théroigne, but your own show of levity towards me?”
She seemed about to retort angrily, changed her mind, shouldered the pitcher, and turned to go.
“At least,” said Ned, “have the goodness to first direct me to the Château Méricourt.”
She twisted about sharply.