Five minutes later she reached a mud hovel, whose roof, covered with clods of earth, leaned against the rock, and whose single window had sent forth that luminous ray. With anxious heart she decided to knock. The song ceased and a peasant opened the door--a woman of the same age as _la Bretonne_, but already faded and aged by work. Her bodice, torn in places, showed a rough and swarthy skin; her red hair escaped dishevelled from under a little cloth cap; her gray eyes regarded with amazement this stranger whose figure revealed something of loneliness. “Well, good evening,” said she, raising higher the lamp which she held in her hand. “What do you want?” “I can go no further,” murmured _la Bretonne_ in a voice broken by a sob. “The town is far, and if you will lodge me for this night, you’ll render me a service. I have some money, and will pay you for your trouble.” “Come in!” replied the other, after a moment of hesitation; then she continued in a tone more of curiosity than of suspicion, “Why didn’t you sleep at Auberive?” “They were not willing to lodge me”--and, lowering her blue eyes, _la Bretonne_, seized with a scruple, added--“because, you see, I come from the Central Prison, and that does not give folks confidence.” “Ah! Come in all the same. I, who never knew anything but poverty--I fear nothing! I have a conscience against turning a Christian from the door on a night like this. I’ll go make you a bed by strewing some heather.” She proceeded to take from under a shed several bundles of dry sweet-heather and spread them in a corner before the chimney. “You live here alone?” timidly asked _la Bretonne_. “Yes, with my youngster, who is nearly seven years old. I earn our living by working in the woods.” “Your man is dead?” “I never had one,” said _la Fleuriotte_ bruskly. “The poor child hasn’t any father. As the saying is, ‘to each his sorrow.’ There, your bed is made, and here are two or three potatoes which are left over from supper--it’s all I have to offer you.” She was interrupted by a childish voice coming from a dark closet, separated from the main room by a board partition. “Good night!” she repeated. “I must go look up the little one--she’s crying. Have a good night’s sleep!” She took the lamp and went to the adjacent closet, leaving _la Bretonne_ in darkness. Soon she was stretched upon her bed of heather. After having eaten, she tried to close her eyes, but sleep would not come. Through the partition she heard _la Fleuriotte_ talking softly with her baby, whom the arrival of the stranger had awakened, and who did not wish to go to sleep again. _La Fleuriotte_ petted her, she embraced her with caressing words--naïve expressions which strangely stirred _la Bretonne_.