"I will leave it then," said Val, losing all calmness. "Vous est pas juste ... vous est mal honnête ... voleur! It is because we are strangers that you take advantage of us ...it is the first time I have found such méchanterie in this village.... If you will not give me back my money you can keep it and the meat too!" She flung it down and raged from the shop.
"Comme wus voudrez, madame," responded Mother Durand, only too delighted with such a plan, and to see the backs of the departing trio. But two minutes later, just as she was removing the paper covering from the offending shoulder, Val returned. Stretching her firm, thin hand across the counter she gripped the meat once more.
"No! I won't let you keep it to sell again. Rather will I take it and give it to the first dog I meet!"
"As you please, madame," repeated Mother Durand blandly, not to be nonplussed, whatever might be her feelings.
Val stalked from the shop, the shoulder now devoid of wrappings in her hand. Haidee and Bran, sympathetic but apprehensive, waited without.
"She shall not have it. Find a dog, Haidee."
"Oh, Val! What's the good? ... keep it ... it will be better than nothing for dinner to-morrow."
"I would rather eat mud," said Val, white to the lips. "Find a dog."
But there was no dog in sight. They marched down the road, a silent band, looking to right and left for something canine. Usually the village was thick with hungry mongrels, but to-day it was as though the earth had opened to receive all flesh-eating quadrupeds. Not even a cat showed its face.
"Perhaps a giant"--murmured Bran. Haidee was congratulating herself that they would get home without further adventure, or that at least Val's fury would presently abate enough for her to abandon her idea, when, just in front of the Café Rosetta a lean liver-and-white pointer with the legs of a bull dog and the ears of a cocker spaniel strolled out. Val held the shoulder towards him.