They looked with a fine lack of sympathy at Cecile's pathetic
blue eyes, and Maurice was nothing more to them than a rather dirty
little sunburnt boy.
One or two of the inns even refused the children a night's lodging
for money, and so disagreeable did those that did take them in make
themselves that after the first night Cecile and Joe determined to
sleep in the forest close by. it was now April, the weather was
delicious, and in the forest of pines and oak trees not a breath of
wind ever seemed to enter. Joe, looking round, found an old
tumbledown hut. In the hut was a pile of dry pine needles. These pine
needles made a much snugger bed than they had found in a rather dirty
inn in the village; and, still greater an advantage, they could use
this pleasant accommodation free of all charge.
It was, indeed, necessary to economize, for the francs sewn into the
winsey frock would come to an end by and by.
The children found to their dismay that they had by no means taken a
direct road to the Pyrenees, but had wandered about, and had been
misdirected many times.
There was one reason, however, which induced Cecile to stay for a
few days in the forest close to the village of Moulleau.
This was the reason: Amongst the many sunny farms around, was one,
the smallest there, but built on a slight eminence, and resembling
in some slight and vague way, not so much its neighbors, as the
low-roofed, many-thatched English farmhouse of Warren's Grove.
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