"This is a rather pretty child you have here," said Mr. The Englishman,
taking her chin in his hand, and looking down into her astonished blue
eyes.

"Monsieur, she is a very pretty child," returned the Corporal, with a
stress on his polite correction of the phrase.

"And good?" said the Englishman.

"And very good. Poor little thing!"

"Hah!" The Englishman stooped down and patted her cheek, not without
awkwardness, as if he were going too far in his conciliation. "And what
is this medal round your neck, my little one?"

Bebelle having no other reply on her lips than her chubby right fist, the
Corporal offered his services as interpreter.

"Monsieur demands, what is this, Bebelle?"

"It is the Holy Virgin," said Bebelle.

"And who gave it you?" asked the Englishman.

"Theophile."

"And who is Theophile?"

Bebelle broke into a laugh, laughed merrily and heartily, clapped her
chubby hands, and beat her little feet on the stone pavement of the