have, then, been the victim of some violence?" observed the comte
to Martial. "How did you come by those wounds?"

"They are nothing--nothing, sir. I had a quarrel--a struggle ensued, and
I was wounded. But this young peasant girl cannot remain in this house,"
he added, with a gloomy air. "I cannot remain here myself--nor my wife,
nor my brother, nor my sister, whom you see. We are going to leave the
isle, never to return to it."

"Oh, how nice!" exclaimed the two children.

"Then what are we to do?" said the doctor, looking at Fleur-de-Marie.
"It is impossible to think of conveying the subject to Paris in her
present state of prostration. But then my house is quite close at hand,
my gardener's wife and her daughter are capital nurses; and since this
asphyxia by submersion interests you, my dear Saint-Remy, why, you can
watch over the necessary attentions, and I will come and see her every
day."

"And you assume the harsh and pitiless man," exclaimed the comte, "when,
as your proposal proves, you have one of the noblest hearts in the
world!"

"If the subject sinks under it, as is possible, there will be an
opportunity for a most interesting dissection, which will allow me to
confirm once again Goodwin's assertions."

"How horridly you talk!" cried the comte.

"For those who know how to read, the dead body is a book in which they
learn to save the lives of the diseased!" replied Dr. Griffon,
stoically.

"At last, then, you do good?" said M. de Saint-Remy, with bitterness;
"and that is important. What consequence is the cause provided that
benefit results? Poor child! The more I look at her the more she
interests me."

"And well does she deserve it, I can tell you, sir," observed La Louve,
with excitement, and approaching him.

"Do you know her?" inquired the comte.

"Do I know her, sir? Why, it is to her I owe the happiness of my life;
and I have not done for her half what she has done for me." And La Louve
looked passionately towards her husband,--she no longer called him her
man!

"And who is she?" asked M. de Saint-Remy.

"An angel, sir,--all that is good in this world. Yes; and although she
is dressed as a country girl, there is no merchant's wife, no great
lady, who can discourse as well as she can, with her sweet little voice
just like music. She is a noble girl, I say,--full of courage and
goodness."

"By what accident did she fall into the water?"

"I do not know, sir."

"Then she is not a