She laughed with them, treated them lightly, and went about her business again with a toss of the head.

Not once did she show a moment's real interest, not until a fine upstanding fellow came round the corner from the Rue des Vignes, and passed her booth.
She was dipping a doughnut into the boiling lard, but she paused with it suspended.

The little dark face took on a warm glow, the eyes glistened.
"Maitre Ranulph!" called the girl softly.

Then as the tall fellow turned to her and lifted his cap she added briskly: "Where away so fast with face hard as hatchet ?" "Garcon Cart'rette!" he said abstractedly--he had always called her that.
He was about to move on.

She frowned in vexation, yet she saw that he was pale and heavy-eyed, and she beckoned him to come to her.
"What's gone wrong, big wood-worm ?" she said, eyeing him closely, and striving anxiously to read his face.