ng; walks in as tranquilly as if he were going to make a visit as
pastor; he is lost to their sight; not a man stirs to look after his own
house. Bref! he comes back to the day, his brown hair all singed and his
face black, carrying mademoiselle in his arms. Good: The battle is
finished. All the world adores him."

"Continue, mademoiselle, I pray you," I said, eagerly; "do not leave off
there."

"Bien! Monsieur le Cure and his unworthy sister had a small fortune
which was spent, for the people. He begged for them; he worked with
them; he learned to do many things to help them. He lives for them and
them only. He has refused to leave them for better positions. They are
not ungrateful; they love him, they lean upon him."

"But the Pineaux?" I suggested.

"Bah! I had forgotten them. Their factory was burnt at the same time. It
is more than a kilometre from here; but who can say how far the burning
thatch might be carried on the wind? It was insured for a large sum in a
bureau in Paris. But there were suspicions raised and questions asked.
Our sacristan, Jean, who was then a young boy, affirmed that he had seen
some one carrying a lighted torch around the building, after the
work-people had all fled to see after their own houses. The bureau
refused to pay, except by a process of law; and the Pineaux never began
their process. They worked the factory a few years on borrowed money;
but they became poor, very poor. Mademoiselle ceased to be devote, and
did not come near the church or the confessional again. Now they are
despised and destitute. Not a person goes near them, except my good
brother, whom they hate still. There remain but three of them, the old
monsieur, who is very aged, a son, and mademoiselle, who is as old as
myself. The son has the fever, and Francis visits him almost every day."

"It is a wretched, dreadful place," I said, shuddering at the
remembrance of it.

"They will die there probably," she remarked, in a quiet voice, and with
an expression of some weariness now the tale was told; "my brother
refuses to let me go to see them. Mademoiselle hates me, because in some
part I have taken her place. Francis says there is work enough for me at
home. Madame, I believe the good God sent you here to help us."

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.

SENT BY GOD.

I discovered that mademoiselle's opinion was shared by all the people in
Ville-en-bois, and Monsieur Laurentie favored the universal impression.
I had