When the sun was well up the women who had been at mass
gathered down by the little river which runs through the
old city, to wash their clothes. They knelt on the broad
stones by the edge of the water, chattering and singing,
tossing the soap from one to another.

There was a sudden silence. "Here she is again," they
whispered, as a slight, delicate woman crossed the bridge
with steady steps.

"She is blind and deaf," said old Barbe. "I met her an
hour ago and asked her whom she sought. She did not see
nor hear me, but walked straight on."

Oliver Bauzy was lounging near, as usual, watching his
wife work.

"She is English. What does she know of your Breton talk?
I speak English and French--I!" he bragged, and walking
up to Mrs. Waldeaux, he flourished his ragged hat,
smiling. "Is madame ill? She has walked far," he said
kindly.

The English words seemed to waken her. "It is always the
town," looking around bewildered. "The people--houses.
I think I am not well. If I could find the woods----"

Bauzy had but a hazy idea of her meaning, but he nodded
gravely. "She is a tourist. She wants to go out of