Bébée's eyes grew very soft, but they looked up frankly.
"I am not sure—I think he is a painter—a great painter prince, I mean—as Rubes was in Antwerpen; he wanted roses the night before last in the cathedral."
"But he was walking with you?"
"He was in the lane as I came home last night—yes."
"What does he give you for your roses?"
"Oh! he pays me well. How is your mother this day, Jeannot?"
"You do not like to talk of him?"
"Why should you want to talk of him? He is nothing to you."
"Did you really see him only two days ago, Bébée?"
"Oh, Jeannot! did I ever tell a falsehood? You would not say that to one of your little sisters."