He was still looking at his hands, muttering something at the same time.

Miette at last understood from his disquieted words that he wished to go and kiss his grandmother before leaving.
"Well, go," she said; "don't trouble yourself about me.

Wash your hands." But he went quickly away, keeping his fingers apart, without thinking of washing them at the pump which he passed.

Since he had felt Rengade's warm blood on his skin, he had been possessed by one idea, that of running to Aunt Dide's and dipping his hands in the well-trough at the back of the little yard.

There only, he thought, would he be able to wash off the stain of that blood.