and smiled; but he did not meet her
eyes.

"Let us forget the whole matter; it is not worth a sou. If you do not
take the box, leave it; it is of no use to me."

"I cannot take it."

She knew she was doing right. How was it that he could make her feel as
though she were acting wrongly?

"Leave it then, I say. You are not the first woman, my dear, who has
quarrelled with a wish fulfilled. It is a way your sex has of rewarding
gods and men.--Here, you old witch, here is a treasure-trove for you. You
can sell it for ten francs in the town anywhere."

As he spoke he tossed the casket and the stockings in it to an old
decrepit woman, who was passing by with a baker's cart drawn by a dog;
and, not staying to heed her astonishment, gathered his colors and easel
together.

The tears swam in Bebee's eyes as she saw the box whirled through the
air.

She had done right; she was sure she had done right.

He was a stranger, and she could never have repaid him; but he made her
feel herself wayward and ungrateful, and it was hard to see the beautiful
fairy gift borne away forever by the chuckling, hobbling, greedy old
baker's woman. If he had only taken it himself, she would have been glad
then to have been brave and to have done her duty.

But it was not in his design that she should be glad.

He saw her tears, but he seemed not to see them.

"Good night, Bebee," he said carelessly, as he sauntered aside from her.
"Good night, my dear. To-morrow I will finish my painting; but I will not
offend you by any more gifts."

Bebee lifted her drooped head, and looked him in the eyes eagerly, with a
certain sturdy resolve and timid wistfulness intermingled in her look.

"Sir, see, you speak to me quite wrongly," she said with a quick
accent, that had pride as well as pain in it. "Say it was kind to
bring me what I wished for; yes, it was kind I know; but you never saw
me till last night, and I cannot tell even your name; and it is very
wrong to lie to any one, even to a little thing like me; and I am only
Bebee, and cannot give you anything back, because I have only just enough
to feed myself and the starling, and not always that in winter. I thank
you very much for what you wished to do; but if I had taken those things,
I think you would have thought me very mean and full of greed; and
Antoine always said, 'Do not take what you cannot pay--not ever what you
cannot pay--that is the way to walk with pure feet.' Perhaps I spoke