Alice raised her hands to her temples.
"Will you?" he pleaded.
"Yes," she replied half audibly.
Monsieur le Curé gave a sigh of relief.
"God be with you!" said he.
He watched her as she wrote in haste the following telegram in pencil upon the back of a crumpled envelope:
Monsieur Tanrade, Théâtre des Folies Parisiennes, Paris.
Tranchard's child very ill. Come at once.
A. de Bréville.
This she handed to the priest in silence. Monsieur le Curé tucked it safely in the breast of his cassock. "God be with you!" he repeated and turned out into the lane. He ran, for the cracked bell for mass had ceased ringing.