who ought to be beaten till she was blue, if only there was anybody that
had the right to do it!

"But there is nobody that has the right," said Bébée, getting angry and
standing upright on the floor, with Antoine's old gray cat in her round
arms. "He told me to stay here, and he would not have said so if it had
been wrong; and I am old enough to do for myself, and I am not afraid,
and who is there that would hurt me? Oh, yes; go and tell Father Francis,
if you like! I do not believe he will blame me, but if he do, I must bear
it. Even if he shut the church door on me, I will obey Antoine, and the
flowers will know I am right, and they will let no evil spirits touch me,
for the flowers are strong for that; they talk to the angels in the
night."

What use was it to argue with a little idiot like this? Indeed, peasants
never do argue; they use abuse.

It is their only form of logic.

They used it to Bébée, rating her soundly, as became people who were old
enough to be her grandmothers, and who knew that she had been raked out
of their own pond, and had no more real place in creation than a water
rat, as one might say.

The women were kindly, and had never thrown this truth against her
before, and in fact, to be a foundling was no sort of disgrace to their
sight; but anger is like wine, and makes the depths of the mind shine
clear, and all the mud that is in the depths stink in the light; and in
their wrath at not sharing Antoine's legacy, the good souls said bitter
things that in calm moments they would no more have uttered than they