“Yes, oh yes, Martine!” she exclaimed—­“Let him come with us!”

Martine hesitated a moment longer, but she could never altogether resist an imploring look in her boy’s eyes, or refuse any request he made of her,—­and gradually the hard lines of her mouth relaxed into a half smile.  Babette at once perceived this, and eagerly accepted it as a sign that she had gained her point.

“Come, Fabien!” she exclaimed delightedly—­“Thy mother says yes!  We will not be long gone, Martine!  And perhaps we will bring him home quite well!”

Martine shook her head sorrowfully, and paused for a while in her knitting to watch the three children crossing the market-place together, Henri supporting her little son on one side, Babette on the other, both carefully aiding his slow and halting movements over the rough cobbles of the uneven pavement.  Then as they all turned a corner and disappeared, she sighed, and a couple of bright tears splashed down on her knitting.  But the next moment her eyes were as bold and keen and defiant as ever while she stood up to attend to two or three customers who just then approached her stall, and her voice was as shrill and sharp as any woman’s voice could be in the noisy business of driving a bargain.  Having disposed of three or four fat geese and fowls at a good profit, she chinked and counted the money in her apron pockets, hummed a tune, and looked up at the genial sky with an expression of disfavour.

“Oh, yes, ’tis a fine day!” she muttered,—­“And the heavens look as if the saints lived in them;—­but by and by the clouds will come, and the cold!—­the sleet, the snow, the frost and the bitterness of winter!—­and honest folk will starve while thieves make a good living!—­that is the way the wise God arranges things in this world.”

She gave a short laugh of scorn, and resumed the clicking of her needles, not raising her eyes from her work even when her neighbour, the old woman who sold vegetables at the next stall, ventured to address her.

“Where is thy unfortunate boy gone to, Martine?” she enquired,—­“Is it wise to let him be with the Patoux children?  They are strong and quick and full of mischief,—­they might do him fresh injury in play without meaning it.”

“I will trust them,” answered Martine curtly,—­“They have taken him to see a Cardinal.”

“A Cardinal!” and the old woman craned her withered neck forward in amazement and began to laugh feebly,—­“Nom de Jesus!  That is strange!  What does the Cardinal want with him?”

“Nothing,” said Martine gruffly—­“It seems that he is an old man who is kind to children, and the girl Babette has a fancy to get his blessing for my Fabien,—­that is all.”