Suddenly a tiny smile, the ghostliest throb of laughter, flickered at the corners of her mouth. Ned leapt hot all over.
“Oh, monsieur!” murmured the unconscionable witch, as if talking in her sleep, “but are you the doctor?”
“Yes,” said Ned.
She put out a languid hand, never raising her eyelids.
“Madame-maman says it is the cake; but I think it is the Englishman that lies heavy on me.”
“What Englishman?” said Ned.
“My lord the Englishman, monsieur. Is he not the heaviest of all in Bury?”
Ned touched the young healthy pulse as if he handled a wax flower.
“If that is the trouble,” said he, “it is soon dealt with.”
“But how, monsieur? and would you not first see my tongue?” and she put out the tip of a supremely pink organ.