r, except one or two boys, who ran after
her shouting and singing--"Eh, Jeanne-Marie, Jeanne-Marie--what
have you got to-day, Jeanne-Marie?" And to them she gave no
sort of heed, walking steadily and swiftly on, without even
turning her head, till she paused before a low, white-washed
cottage, standing a little apart from the village, between the
poplars that bordered the road. In front was a bench, and on
one side a vine, all dripping and forlorn, was trained over a
trellis that sloped from the roof, and, with wooden supports,
made a shelter for a row of bee-hives placed on a plank
beneath; under the front gable was a wicker contrivance for
pigeons, and below it, in large gold letters on a blue board,
the words, "Cafe et Restaurant." The door opened at once into
the little public room of the humblest pretentions, furnished
with a cupboard containing a store of bottles and glasses, a
stove in one corner, above it some bright copper tea-kettles,
a dozen chairs, and a deal table pushed near the one small
window that looked out on the road and the stream beyond, and
then across fields, and meadows, and trees, to the hills. A
man, with a heavy, loutish face and figure, was sitting with
his arms on the table, twirling a glass about in his fingers,
a bottle half full of vine before him. He turned round as
Jeanne-Marie entered with Madelon in her arms, and rising
slowly went towards them.

"Eh, Jeanne-Marie, what have you got there?" he said.

"Does that concern you?" answered the woman sharply enough;
"drink your wine, Jacques Monnier, and do not trouble yourself
with other people's affairs."

"_Est-elle morte, la petite?_" asked Jacques, recoiling at the
sight of Madelon's white face.

"_Est-elle morte?_" repeated Jeanne-Marie, "and with her eyes as
wide open as yours! _Allons, mon enfant, du courage_," she
added, as Madelon opened her eyes for a moment; but she closed
them again, and the woman looking round, said, "There will be
no peace here, with you men coming in and out. Open that door
for me, Jacques," pointing to one nearly opposite the
entrance.

The man obeyed. It opened at the bottom of the ladder-like
staircase, a gleam of light from above, showing where another
door at the top step led into a small bed-room. Jeanne-Marie
carried Madelon upstairs like a baby, took off her hat and
damp cloak, laid her on the bed, and then ran downstairs again
for a glass of cordial.

Madelon, however, was already revivi