Rosaline’s lesson was well learned and she was on her guard in a moment.
“We have enough fish,� she said coldly.
“But these are so fresh, mademoiselle,� persisted la Louve. “But then the young lady cannot judge; permit poor Mère Tigrane to show these lovely trout to the cook.�
“I tell you that we have more fish than we can eat,� said Rosaline, haughtily; “you had better try elsewhere.�
“But think of the bargain, my dear,� rejoined the old hag, in honeyed tones; “now the cook will know—or the steward.�
As she spoke Mère Tigrane gently opened the gate and entered, to Rosaline’s disgust. She instinctively feared the fishwife and she did not want her to approach the house. She moved, therefore, into the centre of the path, blocking the way,—a very bad move, indeed, for it roused all la Louve’s suspicions.
“Now, my dearie, let me sell these pretty fish in the kitchen,� she coaxed, approaching the girl and laying her bony hand on Rosaline’s skirt.
Mademoiselle drew back with horror, dragging her frock from the talon fingers with a little involuntary cry of disgust. As she did so there was a low growl from the hedge and Truffe, dashing suddenly upon the scene, sprang on Mère Tigrane. The old woman shrieked, snatching a knife from her bosom and striking at the dog.
“Do not dare to hurt Truffe!� cried Rosaline, throwing herself on the poodle and dragging her off before she had done more mischief than to tear the other’s clothes. “Go!� she added imperiously, stamping her foot; “you forced yourself in—and see, I cannot hold the dog! There is a crown to buy you a new petticoat; take it and go!�
Mère Tigrane gathered up the money greedily, and prudently retired beyond the gate before she spoke. Her little eyes glittered with rage, although she smiled broadly at the young girl.