Adrienne was silent, and then suddenly through the open window she saw a peasant woman with her apron up to her eyes crying loudly. Marie had gone down the garden path to meet her, and with a backward sign at Agatha's window tried to hush her. "No," cried the woman, wringing her hands; "it is little Agatha I want! Ah me! What a loss! What a black trouble! How shall we live without her! What can we do? What will become of us?" Adrienne got up to go. "I will come another day," she said. "Here is someone in trouble, who wants you. If sounds as if someone is dead." And almost before the words were out of her mouth, in came the weeping woman who had flung away Marie's restraining arm. She cast herself down on her knees by Agatha's couch. "Ah, little Agatha, here is black trouble and disaster for us all!" Adrienne slipped out of the room. Marie drew her out into the garden. "It is always so," she said; "they come and come all the day. I am sorry, Mademoiselle, but you will come again. We have talked much of you." "Of course I will come. I shall like to. That poor woman has lost someone dear to her, I suppose?" "Her cow. It is a great loss. She is a widow and has five children. We will tell the Curé. Madame, your dear aunt is so generous. She will send relief at once. Lately she has helped the village so much. And though, if I may say it, we hear she is so poor, there is always money for the poor and distressed. May Heaven bless her!" This did not sound like the Countess, and Adrienne felt puzzled. "Does not your sister get tired with so many visitors?" "It is her life. She is like a mountain spring, always giving, giving, and refreshing those around her. They all come to her, some with sins on their consciences; those she brings to repentance and then sends to the Curé. But between ourselves, Mademoiselle, she brings them to the feet of the Blessed Saviour first. We have a great many come up our garden path; look how worn the stones are. But I—though I'm only a commonplace woman—I have visitors too. Our Father, Mademoiselle, was a chemist and herbalist, and he was much thought of here. We hardly ever needed a doctor, he knew so much, and he taught me, and left me two valuable medicines. A spring tonic which all the village use in spring, and a cure for rheumatism which is one great foe when we get old and feeble. Perhaps not in every case a cure, but it eases and drives away the pain. They come to me for medicine for their bodies, but to Agatha for healing for their souls." "What a lot of good you must do!" said Adrienne. "And as for your sweet little sister, she is an angel, she thrills me through when she speaks. She's so intense and real and true!"