with a kindly light. I
ran impulsively to meet him, with outstretched hands, which he took into
his own with a pleasant smile.

"Oh, come, monsieur," I cried; "make haste! She is ill, my poor Minima!"

The smile faded away from his face in an instant, and he did not utter a
word. He followed me quickly to the side of the little bed, laid his
hand softly on the child's forehead, and felt her pulse. He lifted up
her head gently, and, opening her mouth, looked at her tongue and
throat. He shook his head as he turned to me with a grave and perplexed
expression, and he spoke with a low, solemn accent.

"Madame," he said, "it is the fever."

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.

A FEVER-HOSPITAL.

The fever! What fever? Was it any thing more than some childish malady
brought on by exhaustion? I stood silent, in amazement at his solemn
manner, and looking from him to the delirious child. He was the first to
speak again.

"It will be impossible for you to go to-day," he said; "the child cannot
be removed. I must tell Jean to put up the horse and _char a bancs_
again. I shall return in an instant to you, madame."

He left me, and I sank down on a chair, half stupefied by this new
disaster. It would be necessary to stay where we were until Minima
recovered; yet I had no means to pay these people for the trouble we
should give them, and the expense we should be to them. Monsieur le Cure
had all the appearance of a poor parish priest, with a very small
income. I had not time to decide upon any course, however, before he
returned and brought with him his sister.

Mademoiselle Therese was a tall, plain, elderly woman, but with the same
pleasant expression of open friendliness as that of her brother. She
went through precisely the same examination of Minima as he had done.

"The fever!" she ejaculated, in much the same tone as his. They looked
significantly at each other, and then held a hurried consultation
together outside the door, after which the cure returned alone.

"Madame," he said, "this child is not your own, as I supposed last
night. My sister says you are too young to be her mother. Is she your
sister?"

"No, monsieur," I answered.

"I called you madame because you were travelling alone," he continued,
smiling; "French demoiselles never travel alone before they are married.
You are mademoiselle, no doubt?"

An awkward question, for he paused as if it were a question. I look into
his kind, keen face and honest