r shook her head and looked past the questioner
apathetically. There was no getting anything out of the woman, how
terribly stupid she was. The man wanted to let her go, but Kate pressed
up against him and whispered: "Ask her where she lives. Where she
lives--do you hear?"

"Heigh, where do you live, my good woman?"

She shook her head once more without saying a word.

"Where do you come from, I mean? From what village?"

"Je ne co'pr nay,"[A] she said curtly. But then, becoming more
approachable--perhaps she hoped for a second gift of money--she began
in a whining, plaintive voice: "Ne n'ava nay de pan et tat d's
e'fa'ts."[B]

"You're a Walloon, aren't you?"

"Ay[C]--Longfaye." And she raised her arm and pointed in a direction
in which nothing was to be seen but the heavens and the Venn.

Longfaye was a very poor village in the Venn. Paul Schlieben knew
that, and was about to put his hand into his pocket again, but Kate
held him back, "No, not her--not the woman--you must hand it over to
the vestryman for the child, the poor child."

[Footnote A: Je ne comprends pas.]

[Footnote B: Nous n'avons pas de pain et tant d'enfants.]

[Footnote C: Yes.]

She whispered softly and very quickly in her excitement.

It was impossible for the woman to have understood anything, but her
black eyes flew as quick as lightning from the gentleman to the lady,
and remained fixed on the fine lady from the town full of suspicion: if
she would not give her anything, why should she let them ask her any
more questions? What did they want with her? With the curtest of nods
and a brusque "adieu" the Walloon turned away. She walked away across
the marsh calmly but with long strides; she got on quickly, her figure
became smaller and smaller, and soon the faded colour of her miserable
skirt was no longer recognisable in the colourless Venn.

The sun had disappeared with the child; suddenly everything became
grey.

Kate stood motionless looking in the direction of Longfaye. She
stood until she shivered with cold, and then hung heavily on her
husband's arm; she went along to the inn with dragging feet, as though
she had grown tired all at once.

The mist began to conceal the bright midday. Cold damp air, which
wets more than rain, made their clothes clammy. The stinging flies from
the swamps flew in big swarms through the door and windows of the inn;
a smouldering peat-fire was burning within, fanned to a bright flame
by me