"It was I who sold you Palikare," said Perrine.
"Why, sure it's you, little one, but what in Heaven's name are you doin' here?"
Perrine could not reply. She was so giddy her head whirled. She had been sitting up, but now she was obliged to lie down again, and her pallor and tears spoke for her.
"What's the matter? Are you sick?" demanded La Rouquerie.
Although Perrine moved her lips as though to speak, no sound came. Again she was sinking into unconsciousness, partly from emotion, partly from weakness.
But La Rouquerie was a woman of experience; she had seen all miseries.
"The kid's dying of hunger," she muttered to herself.
She hurried over the road to a little truck over the sides of which were spread out some dried rabbit skins. The woman quickly opened a box and took out a slice of bread, a piece of cheese and a bottle. She carried it back on the run.
Perrine was still in the same condition.
"One little minute, girlie; one little minute," she said encouragingly.