She went on. But coming back with a milk-pail full of milk, she stopped
again before them, and said:
"Would you like a little? It will taste like home."
With the instinctive feeling that they were of the same peasant race as
she, being herself perhaps also far away from home, she had divined and
touched the spot.
They were both touched. Then with some difficulty, she managed to make
a little milk run into the neck of the glass bottle in which they
carried their wine. And Luc drank first, with little swallows, stopping
every minute to see whether he had drunk more than his half. Then he
handed the bottle to Jean.
She stood upright before them, her hands on her hips, her pail on the
ground at her feet, glad at the pleasure which she had given.