“Ah, I, too, can speak the English,” said the other, with a delightful accent. “What is it I can do for you, Mam’selle?”
Lucile could have hugged her, so great was her joy at hearing her own language spoken so unexpectedly.
“If you will just be good enough to let me stay here till the storm is over,” she said, “and tell me how to get to my friends, I will be very much obliged.”
“Ah, Mam’selle has lost her way,” said the little French girl, nodding her head quickly several times. “I know the country well and so will give you the aid you require.” She spoke with painstaking correctness. “Enter, Mam’selle!”
Lucile was very glad to avail herself of the invitation, for she was tired from the long walk and her damp clothing clung to her limbs uncomfortably.
Her diminutive hostess led her into a large, low-ceiled, home-like room, whose broad window sills were abloom with fresh-cut flowers. Lucile thought that only the sun was needed to make it the cheeriest room in the world.
“If Mam’selle will explain to me from where she comes,” the girl invited, “I will the better know how to make swift her return, since she wishes it.” 153
“Thank you!” said Lucile, gratefully. “I wouldn’t care so much for myself, but I’m afraid my folks will be terribly worried.” Then she went on to describe the inn and her adventure of the morning.
When she had finished, her hostess nodded thoughtfully. “I know the place of which you speak,” she said, “and I would most gladly take you there immediately, but my servant has gone to the village with the only carriage of which we are the owner and has not yet returned. I fear he may have waited for the storm to abate,” and she glanced out the window, where the rain was still pouring down in torrents.
Lucile’s heart sank. “Then I can’t hope to get back to the folks or send word to them till the rain stops,” she said.