They met beside a bench, upon which she dropped her basket.
"Ah, Miche Vignevielle, I thang de good God to mid you!" "Is dad so, Madame Carraze?
Fo' w'y dad is ?" "A man was chase me all dad way since my 'ouse!" "Yes, Madame, I sawed him." "You sawed 'im?
Oo it was ?" "'Twas only one man wad is a foolizh.

De people say he's crezzie.
_Mais_, he don' goin' to meg you no 'arm." "But I was scare' fo' my lill' girl." "Noboddie don' goin' trouble you' lill' gal, Madame Carraze." Madame Delphine looked up into the speaker's strangely kind and patient eyes, and drew sweet re-assurance from them.
"Madame," said Monsieur Vignevielle, "wad pud you hout so hearly dis morning ?" She told him her errand.

She asked if he thought she would find anything.
"Yez," he said, "it was possible--a few lill' _becassines-de-mer_, ou somezin' ligue.

But fo' w'y you lill' gal lose doze hapetide ?" "Ah, Miche,"-- Madame Delphine might have tried a thousand times again without ever succeeding half so well in lifting the curtain upon the whole, sweet, tender, old, old-fashioned truth,--"Ah, Miche, she wone tell me!" "Bud, anny'ow, Madame, wad you thing ?" "Miche," she replied, looking up again with a tear standing in either eye, and then looking down once more as she began to speak, "I thing--I thing she's lonesome." "You thing ?" She nodded.
"Ah! Madame Carraze," he said, partly extending his hand, "you see?
'Tis impossible to mague you' owze shud so tighd to priv-en dad.

Madame, I med one mizteg." "Ah, _non_, Miche!" "Yez.