When the sun was well up the women who had been at mass gathered down by the little river which runs through the old city, to wash their clothes. They knelt on the broad stones by the edge of the water, chattering and singing, tossing the soap from one to another.
There was a sudden silence. "Here she is again," they whispered, as a slight, delicate woman crossed the bridge with steady steps.
"She is blind and deaf," said old Barbe. "I met her an hour ago and asked her whom she sought. She did not see nor hear me, but walked straight on."
Oliver Bauzy was lounging near, as usual, watching his wife work.
"She is English. What does she know of your Breton talk? I speak English and French—I!" he bragged, and walking up to Mrs. Waldeaux, he flourished his ragged hat, smiling. "Is madame ill? She has walked far," he said kindly.
The English words seemed to waken her. "It is always the town," looking around bewildered. "The people—houses. I think I am not well. If I could find the woods——"
Bauzy had but a hazy idea of her meaning, but he nodded gravely. "She is a tourist. She wants to go out of Vannes—to see the chateaux, the dolmens. I'm her man. I'll drive her to Larmor Baden," he said to his wife. "I have to go there to-day, and I may as well make a franc or two. Keep her until I bring the voiture."
But Frances stood motionless until the old wagon rattled up to the water's edge.
"She has a dear old face," Bauzy's wife whispered.
"She is blind and deaf, I tell you," old Barbe grumbled, peering up at her. "Make her pay, Oliver, before you go."