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, â€” one of those beings who, â– whatever they may do and wherever they may go, will be eternally repulsed by men, and also by beasts, â€” 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? "
' ' 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