nly happy season of my life. I was
born on that day, and to-day I die. But these few happy months I owe to
you and to Cecile;" and the youth hurried away.

"But you will breakfast with me," said the doctor.

"No; I should be too sad a guest."

He crossed the garden with a firm step, and went away without once
looking back. Had he turned he would have seen, half hidden by the
curtain of a window in the second story, a face as pale and agitated as
his own. The girl extended her slender arms, and tears rained down her
cheeks. The following days were sad enough. The little house that had
for months been bright and gay, resumed its ancient mournful aspect. The
doctor, much troubled, noticed that his granddaughter spent much of her
time in her mother's former room. Where Madeleine had formerly wept, her
child now shed in turn her tears. "Would she die as did her mother?"

The doctor asked himself, day after day, If she did not love Jack, why
was she so sad? If she did love him, why had she refused him? The old
man was sure that there was some mystery, something that he ought to
know; but at the least question, Cecile ran away as if in fear.

One night the bell rang a summons from a dying man. It was the husband
of old Sale, who had met with an accident. These people lived near
Aul-nettes, in a miserable little hole, and on a straw bed in the
corner lay the sick man. When Dr. Rivals entered the place he was nearly
suffocated by the odor of burning herbs.

"What have you been doing here, Mother Sale?" he said. The old woman
hesitated, and wished to tell a falsehood; he gave her no time, however.
"So Hirsch is here again, is he?" he continued. "Open the doors and
windows, you will be suffocated."

While M. Rivals bent over the sick man, he half opened his eyes. "Tell
him, wife, tell him," he muttered.

The old woman paid no attention, and the man began again: "Tell him, I
say, tell him."

The doctor looked at Mother Sale, who turned a deep scarlet. "I am sure
I am very sorry if I said anything to hurt the feelings of such a good
young lady," she muttered.

"What young lady? Of whom do you speak?" asked the doctor, turning
hastily around.

"Well, sir, I will tell you the truth. The mad doctor gave me twenty
francs to tell Mamselle Cecile the story of her father and mother."

M. Rivals seized the old peasant woman and shook her violently.

"And you dared to do that?" he cried, in a furious rage.

"It was for twent