le-en-bois.

"We drove at last into a square courtyard, paved with pebbles. Almost
before the horse could stop I saw a stream of light shining from an open
door across a causeway, and the voice of a woman, whom I could not see,
spoke eagerly as soon as the horse's hoofs had ceased to scrape upon the
pebbles.

"Hast thou brought a doctor with thee, my brother?" she asked.

"I have brought no doctor except thy brother, my sister," answered
Monsieur Laurentie, "also a treasure which I found at the foot of the
Calvary down yonder."

He had alighted while saying this, and the rest of the conversation was
carried on in whispers. There was some one ill in the house, and our
arrival was ill-timed, that was quite clear. Whoever the woman was that
had come to the door, she did not advance to speak to me, but retreated
as soon as the conversation was over; while the cure returned to the
side of the _char a bancs_, and asked me to remain where I was, with
Minima, for a few minutes.

The horse was taken out by Jean, and led away to the stable, the shafts
of the _char a bancs_ being supported by two props put under them. Then
the place grew profoundly quiet. I leaned forward to look at the
presbytery, which I supposed this house to be. It was a low, large
building of two stories, with eaves projecting two or three feet over
the upper one. At the end of it rose the belfry of the church--an open
belfry, with one bell hanging underneath a little square roof of tiles.
The church itself was quite hidden by the surrounding walls and roofs.
All was dark, except a feeble glimmering in four upper casements, which
seemed to belong to one large room. The church-clock chimed a quarter,
then half-past, and must have been near upon the three-quarters; but yet
there was no sign that we were remembered. Minima was still asleep. I
was growing cold, depressed, and anxious, when the house-door opened
once more, and the cure appeared carrying a lamp, which he placed on the
low stone wall surrounding the court.

"Pardon, madame," he said, approaching us, "but my sister is too much
occupied with a sick person to do herself the honor of attending upon
you. Permit me to fill her place, and excuse her, I pray you. Give me
the poor _mignonne_; I will lift her down first, and then assist you to
descend."

His politeness did not seem studied; it had too kindly a tone to be
artificial. I lifted Minima over the front seat, and sprang down myself,
glad to