“We are under a Directory,” said the doctor, “and I know of no law which allows a man to come from Vatan and fish in the territory of Issoudun”; then he said to Flore, “Have you got a mother, little one!”
“No, monsieur; and my father is in the asylum at Bourges. He went mad from a sun-stroke he got in the fields.”
“How much do you earn?”
“Five sous a day while the season lasts; I catch ‘em as far as the Braisne. In harvest time, I glean; in winter, I spin.”
“You are about twelve years old?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Do you want to come with me? You shall be well fed and well dressed, and have some pretty shoes.”
“No, my niece will stay with me; I am responsible to God and man for her,” said Uncle Brazier who had come up to them. “I am her guardian, d’ye see?”
The doctor kept his countenance and checked a smile which might have escaped most people at the aspect of the man. The guardian wore a peasant’s hat, rotted by sun and rain, eaten like the leaves of a cabbage that has harbored several caterpillars, and mended, here and there, with white thread. Beneath the hat was a dark and sunken face, in which the mouth, nose, and eyes, seemed four black spots. His forlorn jacket was a bit of patchwork, and his trousers were of crash towelling.
“I am Doctor Rouget,” said that individual; “and as you are the guardian of the child, bring her to my house, in the place Saint-Jean. It will not be a bad day’s work for you; nor for her, either.”