In about half an hour, Jacques Monnier returned with the
doctor. He knew Jeanne-Marie well, as he knew everyone in the
village, and went at once upstairs to the little bedroom where
Madelon was lying.
"Your niece, I think Jacques Monnier told me?" he said, after
watching Madelon for a minute as she lay in her uneasy sleep.
"Yes," said Jeanne-Marie with a certain sullenness of manner,
which she was apt to display towards her superiors in station.
"Has she been here long?" said the doctor, feeling Madelon's
pulse, but looking steadily at the woman; "when was she taken
ill? How is it you have not called me in before?"
"Look here, Monsieur le Docteur," answered Jeanne-Marie with a
sort of stolid defiance, "I called you in to tell me what to
do for the child, not to put me through a catechism. She
fainted away this morning, and when she came to herself again,
she began to rave and talk nonsense, so I sent for you. Now
tell me what is to be done."
Just then Madelon opened her eyes.
"Do you not know me, Madame?" she said. "I am Madeleine
Linders, and papa is dead; he sent me to be with Aunt Therese,
but she is dead too--Oh, save me, save me!" she cried,
springing up with all the old terror upon her; "don't let them
take me, papa, you made me promise that I would not stay
there.
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