ying
the girl in her arms, and had taken her upstairs without a
word of explanation?

"There is a mystery somewhere," thought the doctor; "but it is
no concern of mine." And so he went his way to visit his next
patient.

Jeanne-Marie had no fears concerning the doctor's discretion;
he was a man too busy in his scattered district to have much
time or inclination for gossip. But she had far less
confidence in Jacques Monnier's wisdom, and thought it not
inexpedient to go downstairs, after the doctor's departure,
and give her customer a word of exhortation. He was seated at
the table as before, twirling the glass in his fingers, and
gazing vacantly out of window.

"Well, Jacques," said Jeanne-Marie, "and what did you tell the
doctor?"

"I told him what you told me," said the man, in a surly voice.

"What was that?"

"That your niece was ill, and that he was to come and see
her."

"Was that all?"

No answer.

"Was that all?" repeated Jeanne-Marie. "_Allons_, Jacques, don't
keep me waiting. I will know what you said to the doctor."

Jacques, who under other circumstances might have met this
imperative mode of questioning by dogged silence, or an
evasive answer, was too uncertain as to what the doctor
himself might have repeated to Jeanne-Marie, to attempt
equivocation.

"I told him," he said, slowly and reluctantly, "that it was a
queer thing you should have picked up your niece in the
street, and that I didn't believe she was your niece at all;
and no more I do, Jeanne-Marie," he added, gaining courage as
he spoke.

"Ah! you told him that?" said the woman. "Well, look you,
Jacques, if I find you saying any such thing again, this is
the very last time you cross my door-step, and that account of
yours will have to be paid in full next week. You understand?"

"Oh! yes, I understand well enough," he answered sulkily; "but
if I hold my tongue the neighbours will talk; I am not the
only person who saw you come through the street, I will answer
for it."

"Who said I came through the village at all? And what does it
matter to you what the neighbours say?" retorted Jeanne-Marie,
"attend to what I say--that is enough for you, Jacques--and if
you do hear anyone say anything about the child upstairs, tell
them it is my niece come on a visit, and not a word more;
otherwise you understand----"

"Oh! yes, I understand," he repeated grumbling, "but what do I
care? Yours is not the only wine to be had in Le Trooz-