Thérèse’s name still excited interest in Charville; two or three heads peered out from the framework of the doorway.
“She looks thinner already, poor thing!” said one girl presently, in a compassionate whisper.
“No wonder, Suzette, if Madame Roulleau provides her food.”
“But what becomes of all that money?”
“Who knows! Monsieur le Docteur is a good man, without doubt, but such a sum is a sore temptation when one has but to help one’s self.”
“That is not possible,” said an old man, speaking in a thin cracked voice, and striking his stick on the ground. “The law provides that no med—”
“Bah, bah, Père André, the law may provide, but we all know that the rich snap their fingers at the law. Henri, little wicked one, be quiet. Well, Nannon, what did mademoiselle want?”
“Nannon is to be mademoiselle’s bonne!” cried the young girl, who had been the first to extract the information.
“Nannon! mademoiselle’s bonne!”
The old woman laughed as heartily as the others, her brown, grotesque face wrinkling into innumerable lines. “It is true, nevertheless, my children,” she said. “See what comes when least one expects it! M. Deshoulières says she is not to walk about alone; figure to yourself her choosing me! If it had been Suzette now—but no, look to yourself, Suzette; after this you will be having me for a rival with Pierre and Jacques.”