"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.
"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 Père 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 is of no use," said the doctor. "Did some one summon the priest?"
"And there is poor Antoine on the Badeau farm, knowing nothing of this," cried the weeping mother.