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With trembling haste the Countess emptied the whole contents of her purse in the old hag's hand. "Bon aubaine. Nice pickings. It is a misery what they pay me here. I am, oh, so poor, and I have children, many babies. You will not tell them the police you dare not. No, no, no." Thus muttering to herself, she shambled across the room to a corner, where she stowed the money safely away.
When we reach the basin between Aubaine and Camp-Major we are surrounded by these barren white ranges, so white that they look as if a miller had shaken his flour-bag over them. But I have not quite done with Frejus yet.
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