"Well, Jacques," said Jeanne-Marie, "and what did you tell the doctor?"
"I told him what you told me," said the man, in a surly voice.
"What was that?"
"That your niece was ill, and that he was to come and see her."
"Was that all?"
No answer.
"Was that all?" repeated Jeanne-Marie. "Allons, Jacques, don't keep me waiting. I will know what you said to the doctor."
Jacques, who under other circumstances might have met this imperative mode of questioning by dogged silence, or an evasive answer, was too uncertain as to what the doctor himself might have repeated to Jeanne-Marie, to attempt equivocation.
"I told him," he said, slowly and reluctantly, "that it was a queer thing you should have picked up your niece in the street, and that I didn't believe she was your niece at all; and no more I do, Jeanne-Marie," he added, gaining courage as he spoke.
"Ah! you told him that?" said the woman. "Well, look you, Jacques, if I find you saying any such thing again, this is the very last time you cross my door-step, and that account of yours will have to be paid in full next week. You understand?"