"Wait, wait!" cried the young man eagerly, "I'll give you the money." He felt in his pockets. Then he remembered that he had given Courtin all he had with him. "Confound it! I haven't a penny on me," he said. "Come back with me to the château, Rosine, and I'll give you all you want."
"No, no!" said the young girl; "I wouldn't go back for all the gold in the world! No, my resolution is taken: I shall go to the wolves; they are charitable; they won't turn away a poor girl who wants help for a dying father."
"But--but," said the young man, hesitating, "I am told they are not rich."
"Who are not rich?"
"The Demoiselles de Souday."
"Oh! it isn't money people ask of them,--it isn't alms they give; it is something better than that, and God knows it."
"What is it, then?"
"They go themselves when people are sick; and if they can't cure them, they comfort them in dying, and mourn with those who are left."
"Yes," said the young man, "that may be for ordinary illness, but when it is a dangerous fever--"
"They wouldn't mind that,--not they! There's nothing dangerous to kind hearts. I shall go to them, and you'll see they'll come. If you stay here ten minutes more you'll see me coming back with one or other of the sisters, who will help me nurse my father. Good-bye, Monsieur Michel. I never would have thought Madame la baronne could be so cruel! To drive away like a thief the daughter of the woman who nursed you!"