"I mean what I say. They did look forlorn little creatures, and yet the small girl was as imperious as a princess. They were two little English children, newly arrived evidently, for they didn't understand a word of French. And they were being taken care of by a stupid sort of peasant girl turned into a 'bonne.' And the little girl thought the nurse was going to cross the street, and that she and the small boy would be killed, and she couldn't make the stupid owl understand, and I heard them talking English, and so I came to the rescue—that was all."
"It isn't anything so very terrible," said the aunt. "No doubt they and their bonne will learn to understand each other in a little."
"It wasn't that only," said Walter reflectively; "there was something out of gear, I am sure. The children looked so superior to the servant, and so—so out of their element dragging up and down that rough crowded place, while she gaped at the shop windows. And there was something so pathetic in the little girl's eyes."
"In spite of her imperiousness," said Rosamond teasingly.
"Yes," said Walter, without smiling. "It was queer altogether—the sending them out in that part of the town with that common sort of servant—and their not knowing any French. I suppose the days are gone by for stealing children or that sort of thing; but I could really have fancied there was something of the kind in this case."
Rosamond and her aunt grew grave.
"Poor little things!" they said. "Why did you not ask them who they were or where they came from, or something?" added Rosamond.
"I don't know. I wish I had," said Walter. "But I'm not sure that I would have ventured on such a freedom with the little girl. I'm not indeed."
"Then they didn't look frightened—the maid did not seem cross to them?"