and now and then meat
and rice."

"Oh!" exclaimed the child in awe.

"_Mais oui_," assured Marianne with a nod, "and prunes."

"Where is that, the prison?" ventured the child.

"It is very far," returned Marianne, biting off the thread, "and it is
not for every one either," she added with a touch of pride--"only I
happen to be an old friend and know the judge."

"And how much does it cost a day, the prison?" asked Yvonne.

"Not _that_," replied Marianne, snipping her single front tooth
knowingly with the tip of her nail.

"_Mon Dieu!_ and they give you all that for nothing?" exclaimed the
child in astonishment. "It is _chic_, that, _hein!_" and she nodded her
pretty head with decision, "_Ah mais oui, alors!_" she laughed.

"I must be going," said Marianne, abruptly. "My young ones will be
wanting their soup." She flattened her back against her heavy basket,
slipped the straps under her armpits and rose to her feet, the child
passing the bundle of nets to her and helping her shoulder them to the
proper balance.

"_Au revoir, ma belle petite_," she said, bending to kiss the girl's
cheek; then with her free hand she dove into her trousers' pocket and
drew out a two-sous piece. "_Tiens_," she exclaimed, pressing the
copper into the child's hand.

Yvonne gave a little sigh of delight. It was not often she had two sous
all to herself to do what she pleased with, which doubles the delight of
possession. Besides, the Mere Bourron kept her wages--or rather, count
of them, which was cheaper--on the back page of a greasy book wherein
were registered the births of calves.

"_Au revoir_," reiterated Marianne, and turned on her way to the village
down the trail that wound through the salt grass out to the road
skirting the bay. Yvonne watched her until she finally disappeared
through a cut in the dunes that led to the main road.

The marsh lay in the twilight, the curlews were passing overhead bound
for a distant mud flat for the night. "_Courli! Courli!_" they called,
the old birds with a rasp, the young ones cheerfully; as one says
"_bonsoir_." The cows, conscious of the fast-approaching dark, were
moving toward the child. She stood still until they had passed her,
then drove them slowly back to the Pere Bourron's, her two-sous piece
clutched safe in her hand.

It was dark when she let down the bars of the orchard, leading into the
farm-yard. Here the air was moist and heavy with the pungent odour of
manure; a turk