"If I can be of use to you—to my cousin;—Oh, she is going to faint!"
The French girl shook her head.
"No, no, it vill pass quick—ce n'est rien!"
"Come up to my room. What has happened? What have you to tell me? Oh, how pale you are,—lean on my arm."
The French girl shook her head again, she retreated timidly before the quiet, gracious, innocent figure and turned to Hans.
"If ze ozer is not here, what 'ave I to do in zis house? You tell her, monsieur le curé. I vill not enter in zis house, I vill go."
"No, no—stay, Miss Henriette," cried Hans, but the stranger drew her shawl closer about her and held out her hand to Hans.
"Adieu, monsieur le curé, you are honest man." She turned toward Fränzchen, bowed her head and whispered slowly and softly, "Priez pour moi!—Vous!"
Franziska laid her hand on her shoulder.
"I do not want to let you go away like this. You are unhappy—and ill; and you bring evil tidings to this house. Come, lean on my arm; oh come, Mr. Unwirrsch;—Kleophea will certainly come back soon."