"Mademoiselle is hungry, perhaps?" she remarked.
"Yes; I had no supper. I could not eat and am faint. I have been ill and am far from strong."
The girl stuck her candle upon a rock and then, going outside the shed, brought in her own lunch which she had left lying upon the bench. It consisted of some coarse bread and cheese, some cakes fried in olive oil, with a few dried figs, and all wrapped in a clean linen cloth.
"Eat, mademoiselle," she said, as she placed it upon her companion's lap.
The beautiful stranger seized a fig and quickly disposed of it with evident relish; then she suddenly paused and asked:
"But do you not need this yourself? I must not rob you."
The girl shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head.
"Eat, signorina, eat," she said, mixing her French and Italian; and the other, without waiting to be urged further, and apparently ravenously hungry, quickly disposed of everything save the cheese.
"You are very good," she said, gratefully, when the last fig was eaten. "I thank you very much." Then with sudden curiosity, she inquired: "But how do you also happen to be abroad alone at this hour of the night?"
Again the peasant girl shrugged her shoulders, and a dark look of passion swept over her face.