"Where is it?"
"In Brittany, madame. Near Pont Chouay."
"But—it sounds incredible! I am sure you are sincere, but—how long have you known of it?"
"I have known of it ever since the first miracle that happened there, madame, four years ago. I lived in the village then. The face of a little girl, the miller's child, was burnt—ah, it was frightful to see!—and her mother knelt and prayed, the whole night through, that she herself might bear the scars instead. And at dawn it was so, and the child's face was as fair as ever."
"It takes one's breath away! What is the village called?"
"St. Pierre des Champs, madame. If madame goes there and inquires, everyone will confirm what I tell her."
"And such miracles have happened again?"
"At dawn on each seventh of September, madame. I assure madame I speak the truth."
"Listen," said madame de Val Fleury. "I shall go and hear what they say. If I am satisfied, are you willing to—to exchange your face for mine? I will not haggle with you, I will pay what you want. It is a large amount, but you shall have it—a hundred thousand francs."
"One would have to think over the price, madame," said the girl hesitatingly.