Monsieur Vignevielle put forth his hand--it touched her shoulder--and said, kindly still, and without eagerness.
"One w'ite man, Madame; 'tis prattycabble.

I _know_ 'tis prattycabble.
One w'ite jantleman, Madame.

You can truz me.

I goin' fedge 'im.
H-ondly you go h-open you' owze." Madame Delphine looked down, twining her handkerchief among her fingers.
He repeated his proposition.
"You will come firz by you'se'f ?" she asked.
"Iv you wand." She lifted up once more her eye of faith.

That was her answer.
"Come," he said, gently, "I wan' sen' some bird ad you' lill' gal." And they went away, Madame Delphine's spirit grown so exaltedly bold that she said as they went, though a violent blush followed her words: "Miche Vignevielle, I thing Pere Jerome mighd be ab'e to tell you someboddie.".