such a thing. She belonged to Le
Boss, as much as the tent or the ponies, or his own ugly girl: so they
all thought in the _troupe_, and so Marie herself had thought till that
day; that is, she had not thought at all. While she could play all the
time, and had often quite enough to eat, and always something, a piece
of bread in the hand if no more,--and La Patronne, Le Boss's wife,
never too unkind, and sometimes even giving her a bit of ribbon for the
Lady's neck when there was to be a special performance,--why, who would
have thought of running away? she had been with them so long, those
others, and that time in France was so long ago,--hundreds of years ago!

So no one had thought of noticing when she dropped behind to tune her
violin and practise by herself; it was a thing she did every day, they
all knew, for she could not practise when the children pulled her gown
all the time, and wanted to dance. She had chosen the place well,
having been on the lookout for it all day, ever since Le Boss told her
what he meant to do,--that infamy which the good God would never have
allowed, if He had not been perhaps tired with the many infamies of Le
Boss, and forgotten to notice this one. She had chosen the place well!
A little wood dipped down to the right, with a brook running beyond,
and across the brook a sudden sharp rise, crowned with a thick growth
of birches. She had played steadily as she passed through the wood and
over the stream, and only ceased when she gained the brow of the hill
and sprang like a deer down the opposite slope. No one had seen her
go, she was sure of that; and now they could never tell which way she
had turned, and would be far more likely to run back along the road.
How they would shout and scream, and how Le Boss would swear! Ah, no
more would he swear at Marie because people did not always give money,
being perhaps poor themselves, or unwilling to give to so ugly a face
as his girl's, who carried round the dish. No more! And La Patronne
would be sorry perhaps a little,--she had the good heart, La Patronne,
under all the fat,--and Old Billy, he would be too sorry, she was sure.
Poor Old Billy! it was cruel to leave him, when he had such joy of her
playing, the good old man, and a hard life taking care of the beasts,
and bearing all the blame if any of them died through hunger. But it
would have been sadder for Old Billy to see her die, Marie, and she
would have died, of course she woul