Michelle Fléchard heard this, and said,-- "That's true." When people turned to look at her she added,-- "Because he shot me." It was an odd thing to say; as if a living woman were to call herself dead. People looked at her suspiciously. And truly she was a startling object, trembling at every sound, wild-looking, shivering, with an animal-like fear; so terrified was she that she frightened other people. There is a certain weakness in the despair of a woman that is dreadful to witness. It is like looking upon a being against whom destiny has done its worst. But peasants are not analytical; they see nothing below the surface. One of them muttered, "She might be a spy." "Keep still and go away," whispered the kind-hearted woman who had spoken to her before. "I am doing no harm," replied Michelle Fléchard; "I am only looking for my children." The kind woman winked at those who were starring at Michelle Fléchard, and touching her forehead with her finger, said,-- "She is a simpleton." Then drawing her aside, she gave her a buckwheat cake. Without even stopping to thank her, Michelle Fléchard began to devour the cake like one ravenous for food. "You see, she eats just like an animal: she must be a simpleton;" and one by one the crowd gradually dispersed. After she had eaten, Michelle Fléchard said to the peasant woman,-- "Well, I have finished my cake; now, where is the Tourgue?" "There she is at it again!" cried the peasant woman. "I must go the Tourgue. Show me the road to La Tourgue." "Never!" cried the peasant woman. "You would like to be killed, I suppose; but whether you would or not, I don't know the way myself. You must surely be insane. Listen to me, my poor woman. You look tired; will you come to my house and rest?" "I never test," replied the mother. "And her feet are all torn," muttered the peasant woman. "Didn't you hear me telling you that my children were stolen from me, one little girl and two little boys? I came from the _carnichot_ in the forest. You can ask Tellmarch le Caimand about me, and also the man I met in the field down yonder. The Caimand cared me. It seems I had something broken. All those things really happened. Besides, there is Sergeant Radoub; you may ask him; he will tell you, for it was he who met us in the forest. Three,--I tell you there were three children, and the oldest one's name was René-Jean: I can prove it to you; and Gros-Alain and Georgette were the two others. My husband is dead; they killed him. He was a farmer at Siscoignard. You look like a kind woman. Show me the way. I am not mad, I am a mother. I have lost my children, and am looking for them. I do not know exactly where I came from. I slept last night on the straw in a barn. I am going to the Tourgue. I am not a thief. You can't help seeing that I am telling you the truth. You ought to help me to find my children. I don't belong to this neighborhood. I have been shot, but I do not know where it happened."