Her heart gave a great bound of pleasure.

Ah! her bird was wounded in the wing; she had him now, for a time at least.
'You! Mam'selle Zilda,' he said in surprise; 'how came you here ?' 'I wished to see the broken road, monsieur.' There was nothing in her voice or manner then or at any other time to indicate that she took a special interest in him.
'Do you often take such long walks ?' he asked with curiosity.
Zilda shrugged her shoulders.

'Sometimes; why not ?' She could not have told why she dissembled; it was instinct, just as it was the instinct of his proud little spirit to hate to own that he was helpless.

'Look here,' he said, 'I slipped on the bank--and I--I think I have sprained my ankle.' 'Oui, monsieur,' said Zilda.
Her manner evinced no surprise; her stolidity was grateful to him.
Stooping down, she took his foot in her hand, gently, but as firmly as if it had been a horse's hoof.

She straightened it, unlaced his muddy boot, and with strong hands tore the slit further open until she could take it off.
'Look here,' he said, with a little nervous shout of laughter, 'do you not know you are hurting me ?' It was the only wince he gave, although he was faint with pain.
'Oui, monsieur'-- with a smile as firm and gentle as her touch.
She took off her hat, and, heedless of the ribbon upon it, filled it with water again and again and drenched the swollen leg.