"No,—seven," she shrieked; "they was strung in a row like dried apples," and she burst into fresh peals of laughter, until suddenly plunged into the calmness of despair by a few words from Bidiane, who leaned over and whispered angrily to her.
Mirabelle Marie trembled, and gazed at the stranger. Was it true,—did he wish to commend her to a less pleasant place than Bleury for teasing him with these entrancing stories?
She could gather nothing from his face; so she entered tremulously into a new subject of conversation, and, pointing to Claude's long legs, assured him that his heavy woollen stockings had been made entirely by Bidiane. "She's smart,—as smart as a steel trap," said the aunt. "She can catch the sheeps, hold 'em down, shear the wool, an' spin it."
Bidiane immediately pushed her basket under the table with so fiery and resentful a glance that the unfortunate Mirabelle Marie relapsed into silence.
"Have you ever gone to sea?" asked Vesper, of the silently smoking Claude.
"Yessir, we mos' all goes to sea when we's young."
"Onct he was wrecked," interrupted his wife.
"Yessir, I was. Off Arichat we got on a ledge. We thump up an' down. We was all on deck but the cook. The cap'en sends me to the galley for 'im. 'E come up, we go ashore, an' the schooner go to pieces."
"Tell him about the mouse," said Bidiane, abruptly.