“No, no—oh no, M’sieu’!” she said eagerly. She had asked all day that either Rosalie or M’sieu’ should be in the room with her. It would seem as though she were afraid she had not courage enough to keep the secret of the cross without their presence. Charley had yielded to her request, while he shrank from granting it. Yet, as he said to himself, the woman was keeping his secret—his and Rosalie’s—and she had some right to make demand.
When the Cure asked the question of old Margot, he turned expectantly, and with a sense of relief. He thought it strange that the Cure should wish him to remain. The Cure, on his part, was well pleased to have him in the influence of a Christian death-bed. A time must come when the last confidences of the dying woman could be given to no ears but his own, but meanwhile it was good that M’sieu’ should be there.
“M’sieu’ le Cure,” said the dying woman, “must I tell all?”
“All what, Margot?”
“All that is sin?”
“There is no must, Margot.”
“If you should ask me, M’sieu’—”
She paused, and the man at the window turned and looked curiously at her. He saw the problem in the woman’s mind: had she the right to die with the secret of another’s crime upon her mind?
“The priest does not ask, Margot: it is you who confess your sins. That is between you and God.”
The Cure spoke firmly, for he wanted the man at the window to clearly understand.