All this time the gypsies stood looking upon her as if she might be a goddess or a demon, sent to restore or devour their child.
Suddenly the child sneezed.
On hearing this, the gypsy woman once more sent forth a piercing scream, then threw herself upon Florence’s neck.
Shaking herself free, Florence resumed her work.
A moment later the child began to cry.
A few husky wails from the child, and Florence’s work was complete.
After removing the child’s damp clothing, Florence joined the man in making a fire. She taught the woman, who had partially regained her composure, how to chafe the child’s hands and feet; then she prepared to leave them.
“I wish Jeanne were here,” she told herself. “I would like to know who they are, where they came from, and why they are here. So would Jeanne. But Jeanne is far away. If I bring her here they will be gone. I cannot take them to her. Have to trust to good fortune to bring us together again.”
Did she trust in vain?
If she had seen the look on that woman’s face as she once more vanished into the forest, she would have known certainly that in this world there was one person who would, if fate required it, go to the gallows or the electric chair for her.