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meant for her.



Although, not to be unlike the others, I some- times took part in this cruel sport, I could not help feeling a sort of pity for the little Breton. I understood that here -was a being predestined to misfortune, — one of those beings who, ■whatever they may do and wherever they may go, will be eternally repulsed by men, and also by beasts, — for there is a certain height of ugliness, a certain form of infirmity, that the beasts themselves do not tolerate.

One day, overcoming my disgust, I approached her, and asked:

"What is your name? "

"Louise Randon."

' ' I am a Breton . . . from Audierne. And you, too, are a Breton, are you not ? ' '

Astonished that anyone was willing to speak to her, and fearing some insult or practical joke, she- did not answer directly. She buried her thumb in the deep caverns of her nose. I repeated my question.

" From what part of Britanny do you come? "

Then she looked at me, and, seeing undoubtedly that there was no unkindness in my eyes, she decided to answer:

"I am from Saint-Michel-en-GrSve, near Lannion. ' '

I knew not what further to say to her. Her voice was repulsive to me. It was no