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flood Of
pungent raspberriestanged like wood. He took a melon with rough green
rind And rubbed it well with his apron tip. Then he hunted over the shop to
find Some walnuts cracking at the lipAnd added to these a barberry slip
Whose acridoval berries hung Like fringe and trembled. He reached a
round Basketwith handlesfrom where it swung Against the walllaid it
on the ground And filled itthen he searched and found The francs Jeanne
Tourmont had let fall. "You'll return the basketMademoiselle?" She
smiledThe next time that I call
Monsieur. You know that very well.
'Twas lightly saidbut meant to tell. Monsieur Popain bowedsomewhat
abashed. She took her basket and stepped out. The sunlight was so bright
it flashed Her eyes to blindnessand the rout Of the little street was all
about. Through glare and noise she stumbleddazed. The heavy basket
was a care. She heard a shout and almost grazed The panels of a chaise
and pair. The postboy yelledand an amazed Face from the carriage
window gazed. She jumped back just in timeher heart Beating with fear.
Through whirling light The chaise departedbut her smart Was keen and
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