“God o’ me, mistress, so do I. Come in, and rest, we are two quiet women. And we have wine and no bread. If you have bread, I will strike a bargain.” Denise looked from Marpasse to Isoult, that slip of ivory swathed in flaming red. The two women puzzled her. She had neither character nor calling to give them, but Marpasse looked buxom, and good-tempered, and Denise had no cause to trust people who pretended to great godliness. Moreover she was very weary and very footsore, and very thirsty, as Marpasse had hinted. The first thing she did was to give Marpasse the bag she carried. “There is bread there,” she said, “and some apples.” Marpasse stared, but took the bag. Isoult had crept up, and her eyes were bright and greedy. She snatched at the bag, but Marpasse caught her wrist, and gave her a slap across the cheek. “Play fair, little cat,” said she, “I cheat no one who does not try to cheat.” Then she turned to Denise with a laugh, her hard eyes growing suddenly soft and bright. “Take your share, sister, and welcome,” she said, “two mouthfuls of wine for a crust of your bread. Come in. I will keep Dame Red Rose’s fingers quiet. There are worse places to sleep in than a sand-pit.” Peaceable folk might have fought shy of these boldly coloured, and bold-eyed women, but Denise had suffered so many things at the hands of the world that she did not stand upon dignity or caution. Marpasse and Isoult puzzled her, being so gaudy and yet so ragged, so broad and merry in their talk. When they had drunk wine and broken bread together, Marpasse came and sat herself at Denise’s feet. She unlaced the worn shoes, and finding blood and chafed skin beneath, made a noise like a clucking hen. “You are not used to the road yet, my dear,” said she, “it is time I played the barber.” In her blunt and practical way she pulled off Denise’s stockings, doing it gently enough, for the feet were chafed and sore. “Black cat, throw me the oil flask.” Isoult demurred, looking a little sullenly at Denise. For Isoult was fond of oiling and smoothing her black hair, and there would be no oil left for the toilet. Marpasse took it by force. “I understand these matters,” she said, “you are a selfish brat, Isoult.” Marpasse’s broad face was so brown and kind, and her hands so motherly, that a wet mist came into Denise’s eyes. She was astonished that the woman should take so much trouble, and was touched by her great gentleness. Isoult, who was watching, saw two tears gather in Denise’s eyes, and she started up with an angry toss of the head, and a snap of her white teeth. Marpasse, bending over Denise’s feet, saw those two tears fall on to Denise’s skirt. She looked up suddenly, and for some reason showed her roughness. Such women as Marpasse and Isoult had a ferocious contempt for tears. “Bah, come now, no snivelling. I have not hurt you, don’t pretend that.” “You have not hurt me at all. It was not that.” “Oh, not that! Then what are you blubbering for?”