girdle, the child's sweetness
still in the lines of her face and figure, as the bud when it is just
about to burst into bloom. He longed to crush her in one eager embrace,
and kiss the nectar of her lovely lips, even if he received a blow for
it as before. That would pile up a double revenge.

Pani burst from the adjoining cottage.

"Oh," she cried, studying one and the other. "_Ma fille_, the poor
tailor, Philippe! He had a fit come on, and his poor wife screamed for
help, so I hurried in. And now the doctor says he is dying. O Monsieur
Marsac, would you kindly find some one in the street to run for a
priest?"

"I will go," with a most obliging smile and inclination of the head.

Jeanne clasped her arms about Pani's neck, and, laying her head on the
shrunken bosom, gave way to a flood of tears.

"_Ma petite_, has he dared--"

"He loves me, Pani, with a fierce, wicked passion. I can see it in his
eyes. Afterward, when things went wrong, he would remember and beat me.
He kissed me once on the mouth and I struck him. He will never forget.
But then, rather than be his wife, I would kill myself. I will not, will
not do it."

"No, _mon ange_, no, no. Pierre would be a hundred times better. And he
would take thee away."

"But I want no one. Keep me from him, Pani. Oh, if we could go away--"

"Dear--the good sisters would give us shelter."

Jeanne shook her head. "If Father Rameau were but here. Father Gilbert
is sharp and called me a heretic. Perhaps I am. I cannot count beads any
more. And when they brought two finger bones of some one long dead to
St. Anne's, and all knelt down and prayed to them, and Father Gilbert
blessed them, and said a touch would cure any disease and help a dying
soul through purgatory, I could not believe it. Why did it not cure
little Marie Faus when her hip was broken, and the great running sore
never stopped and she died? And he said it was a judgment against
Marie's mother because she would not live with her drunken brute of a
husband. No, I do not think Pere Gilbert would take me in unless I
recanted."

"Oh, come, come," cried Pani. "Poor Margot is most crazed. And I cannot
leave you here alone."

They entered the adjoining cottage. There were but two rooms and
overhead a great loft with a peaked roof where the children slept.
Philippe lay on the floor, his face ghastly and contorted. There were
some hemlock cushions under him, and his poor wife knelt chafing his
hands.

"It i