window crying, 'Bread, bread; for the love of God!' yet no one dared to give him any, till a poor peasant woman went in the night and gave him half her black loaf. Not once, but every night for six months, though she robbed her children to do it. And when he was dying, it was she who took a priest to him, that he might confess through the bars of his cell.
'So good, ah, so good, this poor woman! It is beautiful to hear of that, mademoiselle!' little Marie would say, with her black eyes full and her lips trembling.
But the story she liked best of all was about the peasant girl and her grandmother.
'See then, dear ladies, it was in this way. In the time of the great war many poor people were shot because it was feared they would burn the chateaus. In one of these so sad parties being driven to St. Malo to be shot,
