7th June, morning; Breakfast guests

"Yes. Down around your ears, mostly." Jérémie scratched at the black kitten's ears and was rewarded by the kitten rubbing its little head against his palm.

Mathilde wasn't quite sure how they'd gotten around to talking of hair, but she'd noticed that men's conversations often ended up in strange places. Perhaps the same was true of women, but she had only her mother and Madame Bellot for reference.

"Do they have names?" she asked Jérémie.

Foucheaux plopped down onto the ground next to Blanchard, ignoring his last confusing comments. "Well I dunno about them, but mine's gonna be called Beefsteak."

"Not yet," Jérémie replied, shifting the purring black kitten to the side slightly so he could sip at his stew. It was all he could not to roll his eyes at Foucheaux. 'Beefsteak'. Really.

Mathilde cast a reproachful, slightly worried glance at Foucheaux. "You won't try to eat him?"

He grinned at her then. "Not as long as I can get somethin' else to eat."

Mathilde smiled uncertainly. There was the feel of veiled extortion about Foucheaux's reassurance, but she did not like to think that he would be so mean spirited.

Her gaze drifted suddenly past Foucheax as she caught sight of a familiar figure. She waved, not wanting to wake anyone by calling out, and the figure seemed to hesitate, then change course. As he drew closer she could see that his uniform was caked with mud, moreso than the night's rain ought to have warranted, and even for such an early hour his face looked tired and drawn, but he smiled when he recognized the three figures about the fire.

"Rosy. Marcel. Hullo, li--" Paol broke off, staring at the lanky fuzz balls that were milling about Mathilde's knees. "What have you got there, rozennig?"

"Rosy found them," she declared, looking happier than he had seen her in a long time. "And Marcel. Marcel wanted to eat his!"

Foucheaux's statement drew a fleeting frown to Jérémie's face, which he concealed by looking down at his cup of stew. It would be best for the kitten's sake to not let Foucheaux have it back.

"Morning," he greeted, relieved by Kerjean's arrival. Even if Kerjean did look as though he'd slept in a mud hole. Mathilde's announcement made his face flush, but he set his stew cup aside so he could scoop up one of the two remaining kittens from the ground near his crossed legs.

"Aye. They were in a wagon." He held the purring creature out to Kerjean, confident that he would have no interest in turning the little feline into supper.

Grinning despite himself, Paol cupped the kitten in one large hand and held it against his chest. "Hey, kazhig..." he murmured, holding out the fingers of his other hand for the little creature to sniff. The kitten seemed to consider the introduction dubious at best, but it suffered him to stroke its head.

"What will you do with them?" he asked Jeremie.

"I swapped mine for - well I was hoping for some stew. Didn't bring a mug with me, but..." He looked at Mathilde with a hopeful smile.

For a moment, Mathilde simply stared at Foucheaux. She hadn't known it was a trade. But she couldn't give the kitten back now, not if he was going to eat it. But that meant – oh, her mother was going to kill her. "You never said!" she exclaimed helplessly. It wasn't fair.

He shrugged, absently allowing the black kitten to lick a few stray droplets of stew off the cup's rim. "I don't know. This one I will keep, but the others..."

It was not possible for him to keep them all, however much he might like to. With the exception of Foucheaux, his companions around the fire could, he knew, be relied upon to look after the little beasts if they were given one. Or more.

"Here," Jérémie added, holding the cup of stew out to Foucheaux. If it served to satisfy the man in his apparent desire to 'trade', Jérémie could accept the loss.

Foucheaux shrugged and grinned, accepting the cup from Blanchard. "Fair enough. Thanks Rosy." He gave Mathilde a wink before digging in to his breakfast. "Ain't you gonna keep 'em all together, like a little flock?" he asked through a satisfying bite of meat.

Mathilde observed the exchange, her mouth half open in unvoiced protest. But her courage failed her once again. She tried with sudden desperation to concentrate on the kitten in her arms, but it was no use. With a little gasp of a sob, she thrust her kitten at Paol and fled.

She had made a proper mess of things. Again. The evening before with Bright and now again with Foucheaux and both times it had been Rosy who had had to pay for it. If she was more like her mother -- but that thought only made the tears come faster.

Paol stared after her in bewilderment. "What just--" he began, then shook his head. "I'd better go find out," he finished instead, setting Mathilde's kitten down beside Jérémie.

The mood of the little gathering changed entirely too swiftly for Jérémie to fully understand what was happening, until both Mathilde and Kerjean had gone hurrying away. He frowned in confusion but had enough presence of mind to scoop up Mathilde's kitten and add it to the pile of felines in his lap.

It would do little good to ask Foucheaux for possible explanations, though. Instead, Jérémie settled for a frustrated sigh and shook his head. He really was getting good at being the cause of trouble, wasn't he?

Foucheaux frowned after the retreating girl. "She cryin'?" he asked. "Kids, eh. Girls especially. Maybe she wants them all for her own." He shook his head and turned back to his stew. Then he noticed that Mathilde had left the pot unattended. With a grin he reached out and helped himself to a bit more before offering the ladle to Rosy.

"I think one cup is enough," said Jérémie. "The others haven't eaten yet."

Foucheaux shrugged and dropped the ladle back in the pot. "Their loss if they miss out. Sides, this is my- I'm the one who supplied the meat for this stew. But don't tell anyone." He was not entirely heartless though, so he returned Blanchard's cup still half full before rising to leave. "Thanks Rosy. Look after that little cat for me. Beefsteak."

He had heard as much about the stew, but was not of a mind to respect Foucheaux's assertion of ownership of it. Being given responsibility for the other man's kitten was something of a surprise though, considering that Jérémie had assumed Foucheaux had relinquished any claim to it earlier, by 'trading' for stew.

"Thanks," Jérémie said simply, accepting his cup back. It did not break his heart a bit to add Foucheaux's kitten to his adopted litter. But it would not be named Beefsteak.

It could not have been more than a dozen minutes when there was the pattering of feet and Mathilde came hurrying back around the wagon, spurred by the recollection of an unattended pot -- a cardinal sin, if ever there was one. She dropped to the ground beside the fire and began to fuss over the stew, apologizing all the while to the kittens whom she had startled and to Jérémie whom she had treated so inhospitably.

Paol followed at a rather slower pace, the grey kitten clinging to his shoulder like a small, furry gargoyle.

Fractions of a moment seemed to pass interminably slow and Mathilde's already pink cheeks flushed dark as she bent over her work. "W-will you be needing somewhere for them to stay?" she asked, her eyes still riveted on the pot. "The kittens, I mean. Well, some of them. Or not. Or--" she broke off, pursing her lips together as though to block any other words from coming out. She shouldn't have opened her mouth to begin with.

The reappearance of Mathilde and Kerjean both provided a distraction from Jérémie's one-handed attempts to keep the hungry kittens in his lap from tramping through the stew-filled dish on the ground. His other hand was filled with his cup of stew, which was balanced on his right knee.

"Yes. I think so. They can't all stay in my pack," he answered, looking up. The black kitten was perched atop his knee, its little face buried in his cup of stew. Jérémie did not appear to notice.

There was no scorn in Rosy's manner. He must not then, she reasoned, completely despise her. Thus encouraged, Mathilde hazarded, "They might-- maybe they could stay in the wagon? Some of them? Only if you wanted."

"I would be very grateful if they could," said Jérémie. He reached out quickly to sweep an over-curious kitten away from the edge of the fire. Were these little creatures not put off by the fire's heat?

Mathilde's face lit up. "Oh, thank you! I will take very good care of them for you." Her mind was already racing over just how she could do that -- a nest in the corner where Philippe couldn't get at them, saving some of the scraps from cooking....

"I-I will have to ask Maman," she said, adding quickly, "But I know she will say yes. They're just little things with no maman of their own and I know they won't be any trouble, she couldn't say--"

"Good heavens, what have we here?"

Mathilde froze, her faint burst of confidence quickly draining away. What if she said 'no'?