Outside the church, the crowd stood waiting for her. Gilberte hurried along, feeling her shyness returning in the sunlight. Her one idea was to get back to the Logis, back into the shade. But there was a pastry-cook’s shop at the end of the high-street; she caught sight of the window crammed with dainty custards and many-coloured cakes; and, as she was not prepared for such a temptation, she succumbed.
Slowly and hesitatingly, she made her choice. The shop-woman did up the parcel; Gilberte took it and moved away. But at the door she stopped, timidly. A group of street-boys was standing outside.
There they were, with their hands in their pockets, like loafers feasting their eyes on an unusual sight. She went out. They ran on either side of her, making a great din with their wooden shoes. Gilberte suffered tortures.
Suddenly, she heard cries and laughter behind her. She turned round. A young man, whom she recognized as one of the three who offered her the holy water, had darted into the midst of her escort and was dispersing it with uplifted cane. She bowed her head, in sign of thanks, and continued on her way.
An hour later, as she was finishing lunch, Adèle brought her an enormous sheaf of flowers: roses, white lilac and camellias. A peasant had handed them to the servant without a word of explanation.
“But I know who sent them,” said Adèle. “It can only be M. Beaufrelant. He has the finest hot-houses in the district; he is mad on flowers. Madame must have seen him in church: a tall, thin man, with whiskers.”
Bouquetot, Adèle’s husband, entered:
“An old woman has brought this letter for madame.”
Gilberte opened the envelope. It contained a thousand-franc note and a few words written in a copper-plate hand on pink note-paper:
“To Mme. Armand, for her poor.”