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Updated: June 22, 2025
Bébée was not quite satisfied until she had knelt down that night and asked the Master of all poor maidens to see if there were any wickedness in her heart, hidden there like a bee in a rose, and if there were to take it out and make her worthier of this wonderful new happiness in her life.
A girl's laugh is pretty to hear; my girl laughed like little bells ringing and then it stopped, all at once; they said she was dead. But you are not dead, Bébée. And yet you are so silent; one would say you were."
"I do not like you to talk with strangers," said Jeannot, sullenly and sadly. Bébée laughed as she sat on the edge of the thatch, and looked at the shining gray skies of the early day, and the dew-wet garden, and the green fields beyond, with happy eyes that made the familiar scene transfigured to her. "Oh, Jeannot, what nonsense!
"Can I do any work for you, Bébée?" said black Jeannot in the daybreak, pushing her gate open timidly with one hand. "There is none to do, Jeannot. They want so little in this time of the year the flowers," said she, lifting her head from the sweet-peas she was tying up to their sticks.
No, no, I could not go away; he may come to-night, to-morrow, any time; he is not drowned, not my man; he was all I had, and God is good, they say." Bébée listened and looked; then kissed the old shaking hand and took up the lace patterns and went softly out of the room without speaking.
Lisette's mother was a fierce and strong old Brabantoise who exacted heavy reckoning with her daughter for every single plum and peach that she sent out of her dark sweet-smelling fruit shop to be sunned in the streets, and under the students' love-glances. So the girl took heed, and left Bébée alone. "What should I want her to come with us for?" she reasoned with herself.
Bébée listened, leaning her round elbows on the table, and her warm cheeks on her hands, as a child gravely listens to a fairy story. But the sumptuous picture, and the sensuous phrase he had chosen, passed by her. It is of no use to tempt the little chaffinch of the woods with a ruby instead of a cherry.
He listened with a smile; it was not new to him; he knew her heart much better than she knew it herself, but there was an unconsciousness, and yet a strength, in the words that touched him though. He threw the leaves away, irritably, and told her to leave off her spinning. "Some day I shall paint you with that wheel as I painted the Broodhuis. Will you let me, Bébée?" "Yes."
"You are in such a hurry because of the cake?" said her new customer, as he followed her. Bébée looked back at him with a smile in her blue eyes. "Yes, they will be waiting, you know, and there are cherries too." "It is a grand day with you, then?" "It is my fête day: I am sixteen." She was proud of this. She told it to the very dogs in the street. "Ah, you feel old, I dare say?" "Oh, quite old!
People take for granted that one tells truth; it would be very base to cheat them. Do you really mean that I may come? in the forest! and you will tell me stories like those you give me to read?" "I will tell you a better story. Lock your hut, Bébée, and come." "And to think you are not ashamed!" "Ashamed?" "Yes, because of my wooden shoes." Was it possible?
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