's bed and one where a little boy
of six years of age lay. Both were delirious. He was the little son of
Jean, our driver, and the sacristan of the church; and his father had
brought him into the ward the evening of the day after Minima had been
taken ill. Jean had besought me with tears to be good to his child. The
two had engrossed nearly all my time and thoughts, and I was losing
heart and hope every hour.

Monsieur Laurentie raised me gently from my low chair, and seated
himself upon it, with a smile, as he looked up at me.

"_Voila_, madame," he said, "I promise not to quit the chamber till you
return. My sister has a little commission for you to do. Confide the
_mignonne_ to me, and make your promenade in peace. It is necessary,
madame; you must obey me."

The commission for mademoiselle was to carry some food and medicine to a
cottage lower down the valley; and Jean's eldest son, Pierre, was
appointed to be my guide. Both the cure and his sister gave me a strict
charge as to what we were to do; neither of us was upon any account to
go near or enter the dwelling; but after the basket was deposited upon a
flat stone, which Pierre was to point out to me, he was to ring a small
hand-bell which he carried with him for that purpose. Then we were to
turn our backs and begin our retreat, before any person came out of the
infected house.

I set out with Pierre, a solemn-looking boy of about twelve years of
age, who cast upon me sidelong glances of silent scrutiny. We passed
down the village street, with its closely-packed houses forming a very
nest for fever, until we reached the road by which I had first entered
Ville-en-bois. Now that I could see it by daylight, the valley was
extremely narrow, and the hills on each side so high that, though the
sun had risen nearly three hours ago, it had but just climbed above the
brow of the eastern slope. There was a luxurious and dank growth of
trees, with a tangle of underwood and boggy soil beneath them. A vapor
was shining in rainbow colors against the brightening sky. In the depth
of the valley, but hidden by the thicket, ran a noisy stream--too noisy
to be any thing else than shallow. There had been no frost since the
sharp and keen wintry weather in December, and the heavy rains which had
fallen since had flooded the stream, and made the lowlands soft and oozy
with undrained moisture. My guide and I trudged along in silence for
almost a kilometre.

"Are you a pagan, mad