"Mind, M. Rodolph," said Goualeuse; "the ogress will, perhaps, throw something at you,--she is very spiteful." "Oh, don't heed her, my girl. But what's the matter with you? You seem embarrassed, sad. Are you sorry for having come out with me?" "Oh, dear, no; but--but--you give me your arm!" "Well, and what of that?" "You are a workman, and some one may tell your master that they met you with me, and harm may come of it; masters do not like their workmen to be unsteady." And Goualeuse gently removed her arm from that of Rodolph, adding, "Go on by yourself; I will follow you to the barrier; when we are once in the fields I can walk with you." "Do not be uneasy," said Rodolph, touched by the poor girl's consideration, and taking her arm again; "my master does not live in this quarter, and we shall find a coach on the Quai aux Fleurs." "As you please, M. Rodolph; I only said so that you might not get into trouble." "I am sure of that, and thank you very much. But tell me, is it all the same to you what part of the country we go into?" "Yes, quite so, M. Rodolph, so that it be the country. It is so fine and it is so nice to breathe the open air! Do you know that I have not been farther than the flower-market for these six weeks? And now, if the ogress allows me to leave the Cité, she must have great confidence in me." "And when you came here, was it to buy flowers?" "Oh, no, I had no money; I only came to look at them, and breathe their beautiful smell. During the half-hour which the ogress allowed me to pass on the quay on market-days, I was so happy that I forgot everything else." "And on returning to the ogress, and those filthy streets?" "Oh, why, then I returned more sad than when I set out; but I wiped my eyes, that I might not be beaten for crying. Yet, at the market, what made me envious--oh, so envious!--was to see neat, clean little workwomen, who were going away so gaily with a beautiful pot of flowers in their hands." "I am sure that if you had had but a few flowers in your own window, they would have kept you company." "What you say is quite true, M. Rodolph. Only imagine, one day, on her birthday, the ogress, knowing my taste, gave me a little rose-tree. If you only knew how happy it made me,--I was never tired of looking at it,--my own rose-tree! I counted its leaves, its flowers; but the air of the Cité is bad, and it began to wither in two days. Then--but you'll laugh at me, M. Rodolph." "No, no; go on."