"You were in hospital. When you came back, did Helene take good care of you?"
"She gave me bouillon every morning to build me up."
"The bouillon she gave you did you no harm?"
"On the contrary, it did me a lot of good."
"Wasn't the accused jealous of Perrotte—that good-looking girl who gave you so much of her favour?"
"In her life Perrotte was a good girl. She never was out of sorts for a moment—never rubbed one the wrong way."
"Didn't Helene say to you that Perrotte would never recover?"
"Yes, she said that. 'She's a lost woman,' she said; 'the doctors are going the wrong way with the disease.'
"All the same," Andre went on, "Helene never ate with us. She worked night and day, but ate in secret, I believe. Anyhow, a friend of mine told me he'd once seen her eating a crust of bread, and chewing some other sort of food at the same time. As for me—I don't know; but I don't think you can live without eating."
"I couldn't keep down what I ate," Helene interposed. "I took some bouillon here and there; sometimes a mouthful of bread—nothing in secret. I never thought of Andre in marriage—not him more than another. That was all a joke."