“I understand these matters,” she said, “you are a selfish brat, Isoult.”
Marpasse’s broad face was so brown and kind, and her hands so motherly, that a wet mist came into Denise’s eyes. She was astonished that the woman should take so much trouble, and was touched by her great gentleness. Isoult, who was watching, saw two tears gather in Denise’s eyes, and she started up with an angry toss of the head, and a snap of her white teeth. Marpasse, bending over Denise’s feet, saw those two tears fall on to Denise’s skirt. She looked up suddenly, and for some reason showed her roughness. Such women as Marpasse and Isoult had a ferocious contempt for tears.
“Bah, come now, no snivelling. I have not hurt you, don’t pretend that.”
“You have not hurt me at all. It was not that.”
“Oh, not that! Then what are you blubbering for?”
“Not many people would have troubled about my feet,” said Denise, almost humbly.
“Bah, many people are fools.”
The two women looked at each other, and Marpasse seemed to understand. She went red under her brown skin, laughed at herself contemptuously, and began to drop in the oil.
“The Black Cat has prowled away,” she said, “and the cat is a selfish beast. Now for some cool grass.”
She scrambled aside, and tearing grass from some of the tussocks on the bank, moulded the stuff about Denise’s feet, binding it in place with pieces of rag.