She passed one cabaret after another. There were so many that to every three houses there was at least one in which liquor was sold. On her tramps along the high roads and through the various towns she had seen many drinking places, but nowhere had she heard such words, so clear and shrill, as those which came confusedly from the low rooms.
When she reached Mother Françoise's garden she saw Mr. Bendit still reading. Before him was a lighted candle, a piece of newspaper protecting the light, around which the moths and mosquitoes flew. But he paid no attention to them, so absorbed was he in his reading.
Yet, as she was passing him, he raised his head and recognized her. For the pleasure of speaking in his own language, he spoke to her in English.
"I hope you'll have a good night's rest," he said.
"Thank you," she replied. "Good night, sir."
"Where have you been?" he continued in English.
"I took a walk as far as the woods," she replied in the same language.
"All alone?"
"Yes; I do not know anyone here."
"Then why don't you stay in and read. There is nothing better to do on Sunday than read."