"Speak quick, then, for I am busy," said the doctor, gruffly, for something had happened to disturb him.
"Jean Gault has just told me that my little Marie is very sick, and my wife wants me to come home. If I could go now, I would come back in the morning."
"Well, you can't go," said the doctor, harshly.
"But, Monsieur le Docteur, do you understand that my child—my little Marie—is very sick? She moans, and is out of her head, and I may never see her again, if I don't go."
"Plague take your little Marie!" said M. Bourdon, brutally. "What have I to do with her? I want you to stay here. You know very well that you can't be spared."
"But," protested Francois, indignantly, "do you think because I am poor that I have no feeling? You are very much mistaken. I cannot stay away and let poor Marie die without seeing her."
"You can't go, at all events," said M. Bourdon, roughly.
"I cannot go?"
"No; or, if you do, you will lose your place. I cannot have my men going away on every silly pretext. I don't believe your child is sick at all."