The Cure turned towards the door. "You, Mademoiselle Rosalie, how came
you to know?"

"I was in the kitchen with Margot, who was not well."

The Cure looked at Margot, who tearfully nodded. "I was ill," she said,
"and Rosalie was here with me. She helped M'sieu' and me. Rosalie is a
good girl, and kind to me," she whimpered.

The Cure seemed satisfied, and after looking at the sick man for a
moment, he came close to Charley. "I am deeply pained at what happened
to-day," he said courteously. "I know you have had nothing to do with
the beloved little cross."

The Notary tried to draw near and listen, but the Cure's look held him
back. The doctor was busy with his patient.

"You are only just, Monsieur," said Charley in response, wishing that
these kind eyes were fixed anywhere than on his face.

All at once the Cure laid a hand upon his arm. "You are ill," he said
anxiously. "You look very ill indeed. See, Vaudrey," he added to the
doctor, "you have another patient here!"

The friendly, oleaginous doctor came over and peered into Charley's face.
"Ill-sure enough!" he said. "Look at this sweat!" he pointed to the
drops of perspiration on Charley's forehead. "Where do you suffer?"

"Severe pains all through my body," Charley answered simply, for it
seemed easier to tell the truth, as near as might be.