"I do not sell flowers here, but I will _give_ them to you," she said, in
her pretty grave childish fashion.

"I often want flowers," said the stranger, as he took the buds. "Where do
you sell yours?--in the market?"

"In the Grande Place."

"Will you tell me your name, pretty one?"

"I am Bébée."

There were people coming into the church. The bells were booming
abovehead for vespers. There was a shuffle of chairs and a stir of feet.
Boys in white went to and fro, lighting the candles. Great clouds of
shadow drifted up into the roof and hid the angels.

She nodded her little head to him.

"Good night; I cannot stay. I have a cake at home to-night, and the
children are waiting."

"Ah! that is important, no doubt, indeed. Will you buy some more cakes
for the children from me?"

He slid a gold piece in her hand. She looked at it in amaze. In the green
lanes by Laeken no one ever saw gold. Then she gave it him back.

"I will not take money in church, nor anywhere, except what the flowers
are worth. Good night."