He was leaving the room, when, turning round suddenly, he came close up to Franceline. “Dost thou feel a pain, my child?” he said, peering anxiously into her face. “No, father, not the least pain. I am sure Angélique is right; I feel nothing here,” putting her hand to her chest. “God is good! God is good!” muttered the father half audibly, and, stroking her cheek gently, he went. “Let not Monsieur le Comte go rushing off himself; let him send one of those thirty-six lackeys at the Court!” cried Angélique, calling after him through the kitchen window. In her heart and soul Angélique was terrified. She had thrown out quite at random, with the instinct of desperation, that confident assurance as to the color of the stain. Her first impulse was to save Franceline from the shock, but it had fallen full upon herself. This accident sounded like the first stroke of the death-knell. No one would have supposed it to look at her. She set her arms akimbo and laughed till she shook at her own impudence to M. le Comte, and how meekly M. le Comte had borne it, and how scared his face was, and what a joke the business was altogether. To see him stand there wringing his hands, and making such a wailing about nothing! But when Franceline was going to answer and reproach her old _bonne_ with this inopportune mirth, she laid her hand on the young girl’s mouth and bade her peremptorily be silent. “If you go talking and scolding, child, there is no knowing what mischief you may do. Come and lie down, and keep perfectly quiet.” Franceline obeyed willingly enough. She was weak and tired, and glad to be alone awhile. Angélique placed a cold, wet cloth on her chest, and made her some cold lemonade to drink. It was making a fuss about nothing, to be sure; but it would please M. le Comte. He was never happier than when people were making a fuss over his _Clair-de-lune_. It was not long before the count returned, accompanied by Sir Simon. Angélique saw at a glance that the baronet understood how things were. He talked very big about his confidence that Angélique was right; that it was an accident of no serious import whatever; but he exchanged a furtive glance with the old woman that sufficiently belied all this confident talk. He was for going up to see Franceline with M. de la Bourbonais, but Angélique would not allow this. M. le Comte might go, if he liked, provided he did not make her speak; but nobody else must go; the room was too small, and it would excite the child to see people about her. So Raymond went up alone. As soon as his back was turned, Angélique threw up her hands with a gesture too significant for any words. Sir Simon closed the door gently. “I am not duped any more than you,” he said. “It is sure to be very serious, even if it is not fatal. Tell me what you really think.”