BOOK SIXTH.
CHAPTER 3. HISTORY OF A LEAVENED CAKE OF MAIZE.
(continued)
"That gypsy steal your child from you!" said Gervaise.
"That's a singular freak of yours!"
Mahiette shook her head with a pensive air.
"The singular point is," observed Oudarde, "that la sachette
has the same idea about the Egyptian woman."
"What is la sachette?" asked Mahiette.
"Hé!" said Oudarde, "Sister Gudule."
"And who is Sister Gudule?" persisted Mahiette.
"You are certainly ignorant of all but your Reims, not
to know that!" replied Oudarde. "'Tis the recluse of
the Rat-Hole."
"What!" demanded Mahiette, "that poor woman to whom
we are carrying this cake?"
Oudarde nodded affirmatively.
"Precisely. You will see her presently at her window on
the Grève. She has the same opinion as yourself of these
vagabonds of Egypt, who play the tambourine and tell
fortunes to the public. No one knows whence comes her
horror of the gypsies and Egyptians. But you, Mahiette--why
do you run so at the mere sight of them?"
"Oh!" said Mahiette, seizing her child's round head in both
hands, "I don't want that to happen to me which happened to
Paquette la Chantefleurie."
"Oh! you must tell us that story, my good Mahiette," said
Gervaise, taking her arm.
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