ew that we shouldn't go far
before monsieur would cry from hunger or thirst."

"I'm thirsty, too!" said Petit-Pierre.

"Well, we will go to Mere Rebec's wine-shop at Corlay, at the sign of
the _Break of Day_. A fine sign, but a poor inn! Come, Marie, you will
drink a finger of wine too."

"No, no, I don't need anything," she said, "I'll hold the mare while you
go in with the little one."

"But now I think of it, my dear girl, you gave the bread you had for
your luncheon to my Pierre, and you haven't had anything to eat; you
refused to dine with us at the house, and did nothing but weep."

"Oh! I wasn't hungry, I was too sad! and I promise you that I haven't
the slightest desire to eat now."

"We must force you to, little one; otherwise you'll be sick. We have a
long way to go, and we mustn't arrive there half-starved, and ask for
bread before we say good-day. I propose to set you the example, although
I'm not very hungry; but I shall make out to eat, considering that I
didn't dine very well, either. I saw you and your mother weeping, and it
made my heart sick. Come, come, I will tie Grise at the door; get down,
I insist upon it."

All three entered Mere Rebec's establishment, and in less than a quarter
of an hour the stout, limping hostess succeeded in serving them an
omelet of respectable appearance with brown-bread and light wine.

Peasants do not eat quickly, and Petit-Pierre had such an enormous
appetite that nearly an hour passed before Germain could think of
renewing their journey. Little Marie ate to oblige at first; then her
appetite came, little by little; for at sixteen one cannot fast long,
and the country air is an imperious master. The kind words Germain said
to her to comfort her and give her courage also produced their effect;
she made an effort to persuade herself that seven months would soon be
passed, and to think how happy she would be to be at home once more, in
her own village, since Pere Maurice and Germain were agreed in promising
to take her into their service. But as she was beginning to brighten up
and play with Petit-Pierre, Germain conceived the unfortunate idea of
telling her to look out through the wine-shop window at the lovely view
of the valley, which they could see throughout its whole length from
that elevation, laughing and verdant and fertile. Marie looked, and
asked if they could see the houses at Belair from there.

"To be sure," replied Germain, "and the farm, and your h