e's hand grasped old Louis' arm too late. The tailor sprang
back with a horrible laugh, striking her aside, and rushed out to the
landing.

"Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur!" cried Rosalie, and, snatching a scarf from
her bosom, thrust it in upon the excoriated breast, as Charley, hardly
realising what had happened, choked back moans of pain.

"What did he do?" he gasped.

"The iron cross from the church door!" she answered. "A minute, one
minute, Monsieur!"

She rushed out upon the landing in time to see the tailor stumble on
the stairs and fall head forwards to the bottom, at the feet of Margot
Patry.

Rosalie paid no heed to the fallen man. "Oil! flour! Quick!" she cried.
"Quick! Quick!" She stepped over the body of the tailor, snatched at
Margot's arm, and dragged her into the kitchen. "Quick-oil and flour!"

The old woman showed her where they were, moaning and whining.

"He tried to kill Monsieur," cried Rosalie, "burned him on the breast
with the holy cross!"

With oil and flour she hurried back, over the body of the tailor, up
the stairs, and into Charley's room. Charley was now out of bed and half
dressed, though choking with pain, and preserving consciousness only by
a great effort.

"Good Mademoiselle!" he said.

She took the scarf off gently, soaked it in oil and splashed it with
flour, and laid it quickly back on the burnt flesh.

Margot came staggering into the room.

"I cannot rouse him. I cannot rouse him. He is dead! He is dead!" she
whimpered.

"He--"

Charley swayed forward towards the woman, recovered himself, and said:

"Now not a word of what he did to me, remember. Not one word, or you
will go to jail with him. If you keep quiet, I'll say nothing. He didn't
know what he was doing." He turned to Rosalie. "Not a word of this,
please," he moaned. "Hide the cross."

He moved towards the door. Rosalie saw his purpose, and ran out ahead of
him and down the stairs to where the tailor lay prone on his face, one
hand still holding the pincers. The little iron cross lay in a dark
corner. Stooping, she lifted up the tailor's head, then felt his heart.

"He is not dead," she cried. "Quick, Margot, some water," she added,
to the whimpering woman. Margot tottered away, and came again presently
with the water.

"I will go for some one to help," Rosalie said, rising to her feet,
as she saw Charley come slowly down the staircase, his face white with
misery. She ran and took his arm to help him down.