She waited awhile, then took one little red moss-rosebud that she had
saved all day in a corner of her basket, and held it out to him frankly,
shyly, as a peace offering.
"Was I rude? I did not mean to be. But I cannot take the stockings; and
why did you tell me that falsehood?"
He took the rosebud and rose too, and smiled; but he did not meet her
eyes.
"Let us forget the whole matter; it is not worth a sou. If you do not
take the box, leave it; it is of no use to me."
"I cannot take it."
She knew she was doing right. How was it that he could make her feel as
though she were acting wrongly?
"Leave it then, I say. You are not the first woman, my dear, who has
quarrelled with a wish fulfilled. It is a way your sex has of rewarding
gods and men.--Here, you old witch, here is a treasure-trove for you. You
can sell it for ten francs in the town anywhere."
As he spoke he tossed the casket and the stockings in it to an old
decrepit woman, who was passing by with a baker's cart drawn by a dog;
and, not staying to heed her astonishment, gathered his colors and easel
together.
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