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Updated: June 22, 2025
Bébée, whose religion was the sweetest, vaguest mingling of Pagan and Christian myths, and whose faith in fairies and in saints was exactly equal in strength and in ignorance, Bébée filled the delf pot anew carefully, then knelt down on the turf in that little green corner, and prayed in devout hopeful childish good faith to the awful unknown Powers who were to her only as gentle guides and kindly playmates.
The next day, waking with a radiant little soul as a bird in a forest wakes in summer Bébée was all alone in the lane by the swans' water. In the gray of the dawn all the good folk except herself and lame old Jehan had tramped off to a pilgrimage, Liége way, which the bishop of the city had enjoined on all the faithful as a sacred duty.
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, Bébée," 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."
Herne; ‘and, to tell you the truth, though I spoke to him just now, I expected no answer.’ ‘It’s a way he has, bebee, I suppose?’ ‘Yes, child, it’s a way he has.’ ‘Take off your bonnet, bebee, perhaps he cannot see your face.’ ‘I do not think that will be of much use, child; however, I will take off my bonnet—there—and shake out my hair—there—you have seen this hair before, sir, and this face—’
Stay, what’s that? get up, bebee.’ ‘What’s the matter, child?’ ‘Some one is coming, come away.’ ‘Let me make sure of him, child; he’ll be up yet.’ And thereupon Mrs.
She is a coarse-tongued brute, and is jealous, no doubt." "Jealous? of what?" The word had no meaning to Bébée. "That I am not a student or a soldier, as her lovers are." As her lovers were! Bébée felt her face burn again. Was he her lover then? The child's innocent body and soul thrilled with a hot, sweet delight and fear commingled.
‘Not drabbed! what do you mean, bebee? but look there, bebee; ha, ha, look at the gentleman’s motions.’ ‘He is sick, child, sure enough. Ho, ho! sir, you have taken drows; what, another throe! writhe, sir, writhe; the hog died by the drow of gypsies; I saw him stretched at evening. That’s yourself, sir.
The saints were mixed up in her imagination with the fairies in an intricacy that would have defied the best reasonings of Father Francis. "Well, then, you will wear the stockings, will you not? Only, believe me, your feet are far prettier without them." Bébée laughed happily, and took another peep in the cosy rose-satin nest. But her little face had a certain perplexity.
Did he?" "I am not sure. On the whole, I think it is the truest remark on literature I have ever heard, and one that shows great judgment in Bac. Well?" "Well, sometimes, you know," said Bébée, not understanding his answer, but pursuing her thoughts confidentially, "sometimes I talk like this to the neighbors, and they laugh at me.
She wondered if she were going to be ill; she had never been ill in her life, being strong as a little bird that has never known cage or captivity. When the day was done, Bébée gave a quick sigh as she looked across the square.
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