"One little minute, girlie; one little minute," she said encouragingly. Kneeling down beside little Perrine, she put the bottle to her lips. "Take a good drink; that'll keep you up," she said. True, the good drink brought the blood back to her cheeks. "Are you hungry?" "Yes," murmured Perrine. "Well, now you must eat, but gently; wait a minute." She broke off a piece of bread and cheese and offered it to her. "Eat it slowly," she said, advisedly, for already Perrine had devoured the half of what was handed to her. "I'll eat with you, then you won't eat so fast." Palikare had been standing quietly looking on with his big soft eyes. When he saw La Rouquerie sit down on the grass beside Perrine, he also knelt down beside them. "The old rogue, he wants a bite, too," said the woman. "May I give him a piece?" asked Perrine. "Yes, you can give him a piece or two. When we've eaten this there is more in the cart. Give him some; he is so pleased to see you again, good old boy. You know he _is_ a good boy." "Yes, isn't he a dear?" said Perrine, softly. "Now when you've eaten that you can tell me how you come to be in these woods pretty near starved to death. Sure it'd be a pity for you to kick the bucket yet awhile." After she had eaten as much as was good for her, Perrine told her story, commencing with the death of her mother. When she came to the scene she had had with the baker woman at St. Denis, the woman took her pipe from her mouth and called the baker woman some very bad names. "She's a thief, a thief!" she cried. "I've never given bad money to no one, 'cause I never take any from nobody. Be easy! She'll give that back to me next time I pass by her shop, or I'll put the whole neighborhood against her. I've friends at St. Denis, and we'll set her store on fire if she don't give it up!" Perrine finished her story. "You was just about goin' to die," said La Rouquerie; "what was the feelin' like?" "At first I felt very sad," said Perrine, "and I think I must have cried like one cries in the night when one is suffocating; then I dreamed of Heaven and of the good food I should have there. Mama, who was waiting for me, had made me some milk chocolate; I could smell it." "It's funny that this heat wave, which was going to kill you, really was the cause of yer bein' saved. If it hadn't been for this darned heat I never should have stopped to let that donkey rest in this wood, and then he wouldn't have found yer. What cher goin' to do now?" "Go on my way." "And tomorrow? What yer got to eat? One's got to be young like you to take such a trip as this." "But what could I do?" La Rouquerie gravely took two or three puffs at her pipe. She was thoughtful for a moment; then she said: "See here, I'm goin' as far as Creil, no farther. I'm buyin' odds and ends in the villages as I go along. It's on the way to Chantilly, so you come along with me. Now yell out a bit if you've got the strength: 'Rabbit skins! Rags and bones to sell!'"