She promised it unhesitatingly:
“Yes, Squire.”
As the end of the line was reached the master inspected his troop and demanded:
“Is every one satisfied?”
Twenty happy voices replied, thanking him.
But one of the children pointed with his finger to an old woman who stood apart, embarrassed and discomfited.
“Mother Fauchois.”
The child’s words passed unheeded, and no one interfered, as if the old woman deserved no salutations.
“Well, now, good evening, all of you,” responded the ringing voice of Mr. Roquevillard. “You’ll reach Saint Cassin and Vimines all right before dark.”
“Good-bye, Squire.”