who is a lone woman, as you know well, shall come and bide with you, and
ask you nothing--nothing at all--only you shall just give her a crust,
perhaps, and a few flowers to sell sometimes."

"No, no," said the fourth; "that will not do. You let me have the garden
and the hut, Bébée, and my sons shall till the place for you; and I will
live with you myself, and leave the boys the cabin, so you will have all
the gain, do you not see, dear little one?"

"Pooh!" said the fifth, stouter and better clothed than the rest. "You
are all eager for your own good, not for hers. Now I--Father Francis says
we should all do as we would be done by--I will take Bébée to live with
me, all for nothing; and we will root the flowers up and plant it with
good cabbages and potatoes and salad plants. And I will stable my cows in
the hut to sweeten it after a dead man, and I will take my chance of
making money out of it, and no one can speak more fair than that when one
sees what weather is, and thinks what insects do; and all the year round,
winter and summer, Bébée here will want for nothing, and have to take no
care for herself whatever."

She who spoke, Mère Krebs, was the best-to-do woman in the little lane,
having two cows of her own and ear-rings of solid silver, and a green
cart, and a big dog that took the milk into Brussels. She was heard,
therefore, with respect, and a short silence followed her words.

But it was very short; and a hubbub of voices crossed each other after it
as the speakers grew hotter against one another and more eager to
convince each other of the disinterestedness and delicacy of their offers
of aid.