sentiments; you have a sacred relic round your neck."

Madame Crochard, with a feeble vagueness which seemed to show that she
had not all her wits about her, pulled out the Imperial Cross of the
Legion of Honor. The priest started back at seeing the Emperor's head;
he went up to the penitent again, and she spoke to him, but in such a
low tone that for some minutes Francoise could hear nothing.

"Woe upon me!" cried the old woman suddenly. "Do not desert me. What,
Monsieur l'Abbe, do you think I shall be called to account for my
daughter's soul?"

The Abbe spoke too low, and the partition was too thick for Francoise
to hear the reply.

"Alas!" sobbed the woman, "the wretch has left me nothing that I can
bequeath. When he robbed me of my dear Caroline, he parted us, and
only allowed me three thousand francs a year, of which the capital
belongs to my daughter."

"Madame has a daughter, and nothing to live on but an annuity,"
shrieked Francoise, bursting into the drawing-room.

The three old crones looked at each other in dismay. One of them,
whose nose and chin nearly met with an expression that betrayed a
superior type of hypocrisy and cunning, winked her eyes; and as soon
as Francoise's back was turned, she gave her friends a nod, as much as
to say, "That slut is too knowing by half; her name has figured in
three wills already."