'Come, Maud, you shall not be fool--wat you mean, Mademoiselle?' said the
stalworth lady, growing yellow and greenish with an angry mottling, and
accosting me very gruffly.

'I don't care to cross the stile, thank you, Madame. I shall remain at this
side.'

'You shall do wat I tell you!' exclaimed she.

'Let go my arm, Madame, you hurt me,' I cried.

She had griped my arm very firmly in her great bony hand, and seemed
preparing to drag me over by main force.

'Let me go,' I repeated shrilly, for the pain increased.

'La!' she cried with a smile of rage and a laugh, letting me go and shoving
me backward at the same time, so that I had a rather dangerous tumble.

I stood up, a good deal hurt, and very angry, notwithstanding my fear of
her.

'I'll ask papa if I am to be so ill-used.'

'Wat av I done?' cried Madame, laughing grimly from her hollow jaws; I did
all I could to help you over--'ow could I prevent you to pull back and
tumble if you would do so? That is the way wen you petites Mademoiselles
are naughty and hurt yourself they always try to make blame other people.
Tell a wat you like--you think I care?'