been thrown down there to die, no doubt; and better to have left him.—But no. She carried him up to the Manoir and tended him and fed him, we may suppose, and Monsieur Trumier shot him to make a good end of the story. She does not carry her mania so far as to keep them all alive. When they are too old and ill, they are shot; dogs, cats, goats, what you will;—we heard of a sheep one day.—It is a strange occupation for a young lady.'
'I don't think it strange at all,' said Jill, but she was too much absorbed by what Monsieur Michon had told to speak indignantly; her eyes dwelt on him. 'I think it only too natural;—for there are a great many unhappy animals in Buissac.'
'Ah, Madame, there are unhappy people, and animals, everywhere,' said Monsieur Michon with a touch of dryness. 'For my part I think it more natural to devote oneself to one's own kind. The beasts do not feel as we do. And they are there for our use and convenience.'
Jill was now aware of indignation. 'They are only there like that because we are stronger than they are. They have just as much right to live as we have;—more right than a lot of us!' she exclaimed, while Graham, peeling an orange for her, listened with a smile.
'Well, Madame would then agree with Mademoiselle Ludérac,' said Monsieur Michon; and, a further memory coming, he laughed a little.—'She is a very eccentric young lady. She struck Monsieur le curé one day!'
