She never seemed to understand their talk, and had a way of looking past them, as if unaware of their presence, that was disconcerting, when one thought well of oneself.

But Marie was not a fool, only a child; and she did not look at the women simply because she was not thinking of them.
With the children, however, it was different Marie felt that she would have a great deal to say to the children, if only she had the half of her that could talk to them.

Ah, how she would speak, with Madame on her arm! What wonders she could tell them, of fairies and witches, of flowers that sang and birds that danced! But this other part of her was shy, and she did not feel that she had anything worth saying to the little ones, who looked at her with half-frightened, half-inviting eyes when they passed her door.

By-and-by, however, she mustered up courage, and called one or two of them to her, and gave them flowers from her little garden.

Also a pot of jam with a spoon in it proved an eloquent argument in favour of friendship; and after a while the children fell into a way of sauntering past with backward glances, and were always glad to come in when Marie knocked on the window, or came smiling to the door, with her handkerchief tied under her chin and her knitting in her hand.