"See here," I interrupted, eyeing her trim self from head to foot savagely. "You've known that little devil with the red ears before."
I saw Suzette pale.
"Confess!" I exclaimed hoarsely, with a military gesture of impatience. "He comes from your village. Is it not so, my child?"
Suzette was silent, her plump hands twisting nervously at her apron pocket.
"I am right, am I not? I might have guessed as much when they came."
"Oh, monsieur!" Suzette faltered, the tears welling up from the depths of her clear trustful eyes.
"Is it not so?" I insisted.
"Oh! Oh! Mon Dieu, oui," she confessed half audibly. "He—he is the son of our neighbor, Monsieur Jacot."
"At Saint Philippe?"