“Ah, how right madame is! how fine is devotion to one’s country!” cried the old man, with a grin which divided his long face into two halves, shrivelling up both. He laughed when his neighbour had passed, and went on laughing sardonically under his breath. Then his eyes fell upon Helen and the child. “Tiens! des Anglaises,” he said.
Even Janey knew now that des Anglaises had something to do with her small self. She drew up her little person with conscious dignity, averting her head as she walked past.
“Bonjour, mes demoiselles,” he said, and straightway addressed the alarmed Helen in a speech which drove all idea of amusement out of her head, comical though his grimaces were. To be addressed in so much French bewildered the girl, especially as he seemed to be asking something of her which she could not fathom. “Belle appartement, beau jardin, pension si on le veut.”
What was it he was offering her? She blushed to the roots of her hair, and faltered in her English-French, “Pardonnez-moi, s’il vous plaît. Mon père n’est pas ici. Je ne sais pas. Mon père est——”
Helen’s words failed her. She pointed with much embarrassment along the road by which her father had gone.
“Ah! monsieur est là-bas? in the woods? Bien, bien, bien! I will wait for monsieur,” said the old man.
The girls quickened their steps as they got away from him.
“What does he want, Helen?” Janey said in great alarm.
“Oh, I think he wants us to lodge there,” said the elder sister, scarcely less uncomfortable.
The little girl looked up in her face with a dismayed and frightened countenance. “Are we doing to stay here—always?” little Janey said.