“What right have you to answer for mademoiselle?” said the Seigneur, with a sudden rush of jealousy. Was not he alone the protector of Rosalie Evanturel? Yet here was mystery, and it was clear the tailor had something important to say. M. Rossignol offered the Cure a chair, seated himself on a small bench, and gently drew Rosalie down beside him.
“I will make this a court,” said he. “Advance, grocer.”
The grocer came forward smugly.
“On what information do you make this charge against mademoiselle?”
The grocer volubly related all that Paulette Dubois had said. As he told his tale the Cure’s face was a study, for the night the cross was restored came back to him, and the events, so far as he knew them, were in keeping with the grocer’s narrative. He looked at Rosalie anxiously. Monsieur Evanturel moaned, for he remembered he had heard Rosalie come in very late that night. Yet he fixed his eyes on her in dog-like faith.
“Mademoiselle will admit that this is true, I presume,” said Charley.
Rosalie looked at him intently, as though to read his very heart. It was clear that he wished her to say yes; and what he wished was law.
“It is quite true,” answered Rosalie calmly, and all fear passed from her.
“But she did not steal the cross,” continued Charley, in a louder voice, that all might hear, for people were gathering fast.
“If she didn’t steal it, why was she putting it back on the church door in the dark?” said the grocer. “Ah, hould y’r head, ould sand-in-the-sugar!” said Mrs. Flynn, her fingers aching to get into his hair. “Silence!” said the Seigneur severely, and looked inquiringly at Rosalie. Rosalie looked at Charley.