"Let us go in," said Madame Pallois. At this moment she dropped the hand of Françou, who immediately made her escape, and ran off with all her might. By the time she reached the gate of the village, her mind was made up. The physician's house was situated only a short distance from Cavignat. Françou knew it; she ran there as fast as her strength would permit, and soon reached it.
"Oh," she cried to the physician, sobbing, "come and relieve poor Bernard's wife; Madame Pallois had only one half-crown to pay for your visit, and I took it. If you do not come, she will die. Do, pray, come;" she continued, clasping her hands, and dragging him by his dressing-gown. Greatly astonished, and affected by the condition in which he saw her, the physician interrogated her, and she related what had occurred, with every sign of the deepest despair. He consoled her, and promised to go and see the wife of poor Bernard without making any charge for his visit. Transported with joy, Françou wanted him to set off in his dressing-gown and nightcap, but he represented to her that he should be able to go much quicker in his gig, and that he could dress himself while the horse was harnessed. He had great difficulty in making her listen to reason, but at last the horse was put to, and the gig drove off.
They arrived, and entered the house. Françou kept behind the physician, not daring to come forward, and as the attention of every one was fixed on the patient, who was in a state of great suffering, Françou remained for a time unnoticed. When the invalid was a little more tranquil, and the physician had given his advice, Madame Pallois asked him how it happened that he had arrived so quickly, and why Bernard had not returned with him.
"I have not seen Bernard," said the doctor. "I was called by this little angel," he added, turning to Françou, on whom Madame Pallois had just cast a stern look. He then related what had taken place. Madame Pallois reflected for a moment; then, calling Françou, "Promise me," she said, "that this shall be the last time, and I will forgive you." Françou promised, and she kept her word. Besides, she was no longer subjected to the same temptations. The knaveries of Jacques were discovered, and he was obliged to fly from the village for fear of being arrested as a smuggler. It was also ascertained that Françou was not his daughter; he had said so while intoxicated, and Françou, on being questioned, confirmed the statement.
The physician asked to take her into his service, to milk the cow and attend to the fowls. As he was a very excellent and strictly honest man, and treated her well, she had nothing but good examples before her. His wife instructed her in her religious duties, and she regularly attended the catechism of M. le Curé, at Cavignat, and when she had reflected more on what she had done, she could not look Babet in the face without blushing; especially as Babet had told her that she had bitterly repented of her wish to throw herself into the well, which was a thing so strictly forbidden, and for which M. le Curé had great difficulty in giving her absolution.
"Poor Babet!" said Mélanie, with a heavy sigh, for she had scarcely breathed during the termination of the story.
"Poor Françou!" said Eugène, "she would certainly have died of grief if Babet had thrown herself into the well."
"My children," said Madame d'Inville, "thank God for having given you good parents, and remember, Mélanie, when they take so much pains to give you good habits, how unreasonable it is not to pay attention to them, or to say when you are told to do anything, 'I don't want to do this,' or 'I won't do that.'"
At this moment, Mélanie saw a poor man passing with a little girl. "Oh! dear grandmamma," said she, "that is just like the story of Jacques. I am sure that little girl is not his daughter."