"
"I will inquire," said Graham.
He went out into the road, and stopped a little girl of ten or
twelve years, who was walking towards the village with a
pitcher of water.
"Do you know whether the woman who lived in this house has
left?" he asked. "Jeanne-Marie she was called, I think?"
The child stared up at the strange gentleman with the foreign
accent:
"Jeanne-Marie that used to live here?" she said. "She is
dead."
"Dead?" cried Madelon. The tears came rushing into her eyes.
"Ah! why did I not know? I would have come if I had known.
When did she die?"
"More than a month ago," the girl answered; "she died here in
this house."
"And who lives here now?" inquired Graham.
"Jacques Monnier--he that works at the factory now. He is out
all day; but his wife should be here."
And in fact, at the sound of the voices, the door leading into
the kitchen opened, and a young woman appeared.
"Pardon," said Madelon, going forward; "we came here to
inquire for Jeanne-Marie; but she--she is dead, we hear."
"Yes, she is dead," the woman replied; then, in answer to
further questions, told how Jeanne-Marie, when she was taken
ill, had refused to let any one be written to, or sent for;
and had died alone at last with no one near her but a hired
nurse.
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