And she might possibly find someone to talk to.

She was so fond of talking, and it was a perpetual regret to her that she could not understand the speech of the Breton fishermen.
It was on the morning of the second day after her accident that this idea presented itself.

All the previous day she had sat soberly in a corner of the little garden that overlooked the little _plage_ where none but _bonnes_ and their charges ever passed.

Nothing had happened all day long, and she had been bored almost to tears.

The beaming smiles of Mademoiselle, who was thankful to have her within sight, had been no sort of consolation to her, and on the second day she came rapidly to the conclusion that she would die of _ennui_ if she attempted to endure it any longer.
She did not arouse Mademoiselle's voluble protests by announcing her decision.