The hut was her own, and her own the little green triangle just then
crowded with its Mayday blossom in all the colors of the rainbow. She was
to live in it, and never let the flowers die, so he had said; good, rough
old ugly Antoine Mäes, who had been to her as father, mother, country,
king, and law.

The sun was shining.

Through the little square of the lattice she could see the great tulips
opening in the grass and a bough of the apple-tree swaying in the wind. A
chaffinch clung to the bough, and swung to and fro singing. The door
stood open, with the broad, bright day beaming through; and Bébée's
little world came streaming in with it,--the world which dwelt in the
half-dozen cottages that fringed this green lane of hers like beavers'
nests pushed out under the leaves on to the water's edge.

They came in, six or eight of them, all women; trim, clean, plain Brabant
peasants, hard-working, kindly of nature, and shrewd in their own simple
matters; people who labored in the fields all the day long, or worked
themselves blind over the lace pillows in the city.

"You are too young to live alone, Bébée," said the first of them. "My old
mother shall come and keep house for you."

"Nay, better come and live with me, Bébée," said the second. "I will give
you bit and drop, and clothing, too, for the right to your plot of
ground."

"That is to cheat her," said the third. "Hark, here, Bébée: my sister,