Then the peasant woman grew angry.
"I don't know! And if I did, I would not tell you! It is a bad place. People don't go there."
"But I am going there," said the mother.
And once more she started on her way.
The woman, as she watched her depart, muttered to herself:—
"She must have something to eat, whatever she does;" and running after Michelle Fléchard, she put a dark-looking cake in her hand, saying,—
"There is something for your supper."
Michelle Fléchard took the buckwheat-cake, but she neither turned nor made reply as she pursued her way.
She went forth from the village, and just as she reached the last houses she met three little ragged and barefooted children trotting along. She went up to them and said,—
"Here are two boys and a girl;" and when she saw them looking at her bread, she gave it to them.