It was a beautiful morning for a sketch, and the interruptions, though many, were not discourteous.
Once No. 3 felt an animal's breath snorting on her neck, and turning round, saw a mule close behind, its rider, gun on back, looking over her shoulder with great interest.
On her saying good morning to the man, he immediately smiled and lifted his cap; and remarking that he wished he knew how to draw, he gave his mule a gentle kick and continued his way.
"Bon jour, mademoiselle," said a bright voice a few minutes later; and, looking up, No. 3 saw an old woman standing before her. She evidently belonged to the lower orders, and was poor, although neatly dressed in a semi-conventual attire of black serge, edged with white, and wearing a long rosary and cross by her side.
She appeared to be very old, and was toothless, and consequently a little difficult to understand, but had an upright carriage, and the sweetest and blithest of old faces.
"Good morning," said No. 3; "you have been to church, I suppose?"
"Of course, mademoiselle. And not you?"
"I do not always go to Mass," replied No. 3; "I am not of your religion."
"No, mademoiselle? Ah! what a pity? You are English, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, madame."