"It is Michaelmas day," he said. "May I speak with you, Mademoiselle?"

She looked at the clock. It was on the stroke of noon. The shop always
closed from twelve till half-past twelve.

"Will you step into the parlour, Monsieur?" she said, and coming round
the counter, locked the shop-door. She was trembling and confused, and
entered the little parlour shyly. Yet her eyes met the Seigneur's
bravely. "Your father, how is he?" he said, offering her a chair. The
sunlight streaming in the window made a sort of pathway of light between
them, while they were in the shade.

"He seems no worse, and to-day he is wheeling himself about."

"He is stronger, then--that's good. Is there any fear that he must go to
the hospital again?"

She inclined her head. "The doctor says he may have to go any moment.
It may be his one chance. The Cure is very kind, and says that, with
your permission, his sister will keep the office here, if--if needed."

The Seigneur nodded briskly. "Of course, of course. But have you not
thought that we might secure another postmistress?"

Her face clouded a little; her heart beat hard. She knew what was
coming. She dreaded it, but it was better to have it over now.

"We could not live without it," she said helplessly.

"What we have saved is not enough. The little my mother had must pay for