“Who taught her this? Who has been tampering with her, and with her life?”
“Perhaps this may tell,” said Thérèse, showing the ivory ring.
Toussaint closely examined the ring, and then drew his hand across his brows.
“How strange,” said he, “are old thoughts, long forgotten! This bit of ivory makes me again a young man, and a slave. Do you remember that I once had the care of the sick at Breda, and administered medicines?”
Thérèse shuddered. She remembered that when her infant was taken ill, Papalier had sent for Toussaint, because, though Toussaint was no longer surgeon to the quarter at Breda, he was thought to have great knowledge and skill. Toussaint remembered nothing of this particular incident, and was not aware how he had touched her feelings. He went on:
“I began that study as all of my race have begun it, till of late, in superstition. With what awe did I handle charms like this! Can it be possible that my poor child has been wrought upon by such jugglery? What do you know about it?”
“No more than that the charm and the poison were hidden in her bosom.”
“It is hard to trouble a dying man,” said Toussaint, “but the survivor must be cared for. If Moyse has poisoned her mind, as I much fear, he would have poisoned her body—But no—it is an atrocious thought. If I wrong him—if his love for her is faithful, he will be glad to tell me what he knows, that her sick mind may be well tended. Father Laxabon is coming presently, to go to Moyse, and leave him no more. I will go with him.”
“How you suffer! How you must suffer!” said Thérèse, again speaking her thoughts, as she looked in his face.
“It is worse than going to my death,” replied he; “but for my child’s sake—for my poor brother’s sake, too—it must be done.”