"Might I know your name?" she had asked him wistfully, as she had given
him the rosebud, and taken the volume in return that day.
"They call me Flamen."
"It is your name?"
"Yes, for the world. You must call me Victor, as other women do. Why do
you want my name?"
"Jeannot asked it of me."
"Oh, Jeannot asked it, did he?"
"Yes; besides," said Bebee, with her eyes very soft and very serious, and
her happy voice hushed,--"besides, I want to pray for you of course,
every day; and if I do not know your name, how can I make Our Lady
rightly understand? The flowers know you without a name, but she might
not, because so very many are always beseeching her, and you see she has
all the world to look after."
He had looked at her with a curious look, and had bade her farewell, and
let her go home alone that night.
Her work was quickly done, and by the light of the moon she spread her
book on her lap in the porch of the hut and began her new delight.
The children had come and pulled at her skirts and begged her to play.
But Bebee had shaken her head.
"I am going to learn to be very wise, dear," she told them; "I shall not
have time to dance or to play.
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