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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Who was that seigneur with you last night, Bébée?" he asked, after a long silence, watching her as she moved. Bébée's eyes grew very soft, but they looked up frankly. "I am not sure I think he is a painter a great painter prince, I mean as Rubes was in Antwerpen; he wanted roses the night before last in the cathedral." "But he was walking with you?"
The long golden day drifted away, and the swans swayed to and fro, and the willows grew silver in the sunshine. Bébée, only, lay quite still and never spoke. The starling sat above her head; his wings drooped, and he was silent too. Towards sunset Bébée raised herself and called aloud: they ran to her. "Get me a rosebud one with the moss round it," she said to them.
Bébée lifted her drooped head, and looked him in the eyes eagerly, with a certain sturdy resolve and timid wistfulness intermingled in her look. "Sir, see, you speak to me quite wrongly," she said with a quick accent, that had pride as well as pain in it.
All was happy, quiet, homely; lovely also in its simple way. They went early to their beds, as people must do who rise at dawn. Bébée leaned out a moment from her own little casement ere she too went to rest. Through an open lattice there sounded the murmur of some little child's prayer; the wind sighed among the willows; the nightingales sang on in the dark all was still.
"Ha, ha! bebee, and here he lies, poisoned like a hog." "You have taken drows, sir," said Mrs. Herne; "do you hear, sir? drows; tip him a stave, child, of the song of poison." And thereupon the girl clapped her hands, and sang The Rommany churl And the Rommany girl, To-morrow shall hie To poison the sty, And bewitch on the mead The farmer's steed. "Do you hear that, sir?" said Mrs.
"Ah, yes!" she sighed rather than said the answer in her wondrous gladness; drawn there close to him, with the softness of his lips upon her. Could he have come back only to ask that? "Well, that is something. You will remember it always, Bébée?" he murmured in his unconscious cruelty.
Herne and she were wont to sleep, missed her bebee, and, becoming alarmed, went in search of her, and at last found her hanging from a branch; and when the child had got so far, she took on violently, and I could not get another word from her; so I left her, and here I am.’ ‘And I am glad to see you, Mr. Petulengro; but this is sad news which you tell me about Mrs. Herne.’
He left the balcony and went down his stairs and followed her. The sun-dazzle on the silver had first caught his sight; and then he had looked downward at the pretty feet. These are the chances women call Fate. Bébée entered the cathedral. It was quite empty. Far away at the west end there was an old custodian asleep on a bench, and a woman kneeling. That was all.
She burst out laughing, 'Lord's sake, fool, why, your girl would be sixty now an she had lived. Well, so it may be; you see, the new mill was put up the week she died, and you call the new mill old; but, my girl, she is young to me. Always young. Come here, Bébée." Bébée went after him a little awed, into the dusky interior, that smelt of stored apples and of dried herbs that hung from the roof.
Some grew into golden painted silken flowers, the convolvuli of their brief summer days; and some drifted into the Seine water, rusted, wind-tossed, fallen leaves, that were wanted of no man. Anyhow it was so common to see them, pretty but homely things, with their noisy shoes and their little all in a bundle, that no one even looked once at Bébée. She was not bewildered.
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