Sister Anne sighed; then, seeing that they were waiting for her answer, she explained by signs that she could not speak.
"Mon Dieu! mother, she's dumb! Poor woman!"
"Dumb!" cried the old mother. "What, my dear, can't you talk? How I pity you, poor child! Are you deaf too?"
Sister Anne's pantomime indicated that she could hear them perfectly.
"Well, that's lucky, on my word!" exclaimed the old woman, walking toward the traveller; while all the children stared curiously at her, thinking that a mute was not like other people.
"Was it some accident that made you dumb, my girl? have you been so long? Was it an illness? Can't it be cured?"
"Let us first give the poor creature what she needs, mother," said the young woman; "let her rest and eat something; then you can question her."
They bustled about, and seated Sister Anne in front of the fire; one child took her bundle, another her stick, and the old mother brought her food, for the daughter could not leave the child she was nursing. Sister Anne, touched by their kindness to her, manifested her gratitude by such pathetic gestures, that the occupants of the little cottage were deeply moved.
"So it isn't the same everywhere as it is at my village," thought the young wayfarer; "here, instead of turning me away and looking down on me, they are kind to me, and treat me like their own child. The world isn't so cruel, after all."
This welcome revived her courage; but she could not answer all the old woman's questions. The peasants believed, according to her signs, that she was going to join her husband.