"Throw it away, I tell you!—I'll run and get you some,—that's a good child!"
Fouchette stopped suddenly and remained immobile, regarding her interlocutor sharply.
"Truly?" she asked.
"Certainly."
The child looked at what remained of the crust, hesitated, sighed, then dropped it on the ground. The young woman hastily re-entered the house and presently reappeared with a huge sandwich with meat on a liberal scale.
"Oh, how good you are, ma'm'selle!" cried Fouchette.
Her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure,—her young mouth watered as the sandwich was passed between the railing.
"What is that,—why, there is blood on your neck, Fouchette!"
The child felt her neck with her hand and brought it away.
"So it is," said she, sinking her teeth into the sandwich.