The woman Paulette came across to the fire and put down a tray.
“I had a sip of coffee early myself and so I just warmed some up for the two of you. It’s cold in the morning around here, even if spring has come,” she said. “Draw up to the table now and make yourselves at home. The brown bread will be to your taste, and there’s honey in the blue dish. Here’s milk for the dog.” The woman took a tin dish off the tray and, bending over, called, “Come, doggie,” as she put it on the floor.
Marie Josephine went over to the table and sat down, and Jean followed her example. He was astonished at what his friend had told him. Suddenly he felt so tired after walking all night that he was not a bit like his usual bright, eager self.
“It does look good. There’s nothing I like better than bread and honey!” Marie Josephine exclaimed, pouring coffee from a brown jug into one of the two white cups and handing the cup to Jean. As she spoke she smiled a little wanly at the woman. She had spoken as cheerfully as she could and she hoped that she had not let the woman see that she suspected her.
Paulette eyed them both shrewdly.
“I’ll just go down and leave you to a quiet meal. There may be a coach party in for lunch, for even though it is out of the regular beat we get them sometimes.” She crossed the room and went out as she spoke. As she pushed the blue dish of honey toward Jean, Marie Josephine felt her heart sink and for a moment the lump in her throat was so big she could not swallow. She had heard the woman’s key click in the lock!
Jean took a huge slice of bread and honey in his two hands and bit a big half moon in it. He was so hungry that it didn’t seem to him as though anything else mattered very much for the moment, but when he saw Marie Josephine’s face he put down the bread and looked at her.
“It isn’t so bad here, Little Mademoiselle. The woman seems kind enough. You couldn’t have seen her at Les Vignes,” he protested.
Marie Josephine ate a slice of bread and drank some coffee before she replied. “We must keep up our strength,” she said. In spite of the peril of the situation she almost had a thrill at the thought that here indeed was an adventure, one that held all sorts of possibilities. She turned to Jean and her eyes were as big as saucers as she said to him:
“How many times must I tell you not to call me the Little Mademoiselle? You are to say Jo. I’ve reminded you twice already. You must remember, Jean. We are locked in here and we are prisoners. Don’t you understand?”