The Strand Magazine: Volume VII, Issue 37. January, 1894. - An Illustrated Monthly by Unknown
page 94 of 174 (54%)
page 94 of 174 (54%)
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"I would not talk too much about them in the meantime, friend. In some
countries it might be dangerous, but we are honest in Belgium." It was the other man who spoke, and his voice, though rough, was not unpleasant. He paid the landlord, caught up his stick, and with a curt "Good-day" passed out of "Les Trois Frères." "He, also, perhaps, is going to Brussels. He means to walk, and if he, why not I?" said the pedlar. He had come in cold and tired, and the landlord's good ale had made him slightly loquacious. "Yes, I shall try and walk. The roads are better walking than driving. It is not so very many miles, and most likely I shall be overtaken by some cart going the same way." And he rose as he spoke. Babette rose also and caught him eagerly by the hand. "I will walk with you," she cried. "I am strong, well shod, and the fastest walker in our village. We can get to Brussels before dark, in spite of my having my boy to carry. Oh! bless you for thinking of it, for now I shall see Paul before the year is out." Nor would she be dissuaded. Farmer Jean came in and said something about snow. "The sky was darkening for it already." But Babette was firm. The landlord's buxom wife came forth from an inner room and offered her a lodging for the night, and then, when she could not persuade her, helped her to wrap the baby up afresh, and finally made her place in her pocket a tiny flask of brandy, "in case," she said, "the snow should overtake them." So they started. Babette had spoken the truth when she called herself a good walker. She was but twenty, and was both slight and active. The |
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