The door flew open and there stood Rosalie, crying, struggling, and refusing to move, while the baron tried to push her in. At last he gave her a sudden shake, and threw her into the room with a jerk, and she stood in the middle of the floor, with her face in her hands, sobbing violently. Jeanne started up as white as a sheet, and her heart could be seen beating under her thin nightdress. It was some time before she could speak, but at last she gasped out: "There--there--is no--need for me to--question you. Your confusion in my presence--is--is quite sufficient--proof--of your guilt." She stopped for a few moments for want of breath, and then went on again: "But I wish to know all. You see that M. le cure is here, so you understand you will have to answer as if you were at confession." Rosalie had not moved from where the baron had pushed her; she made no answer, but her sobs became almost shrieks. The baron, losing all patience with her, seized her hands, drew them roughly from her face and threw her on her knees beside the bed, saying: "Why don't you say something? Answer your mistress." She crouched down on the ground in the position in which Mary Magdalene is generally depicted; her cap was on one side, her apron on the floor, and as soon as her hands were free she again buried her face in them. "Come, come, my girl," said the cure, "we don't want to do you any harm, but we must know exactly what has happened. Now listen to what is asked you and answer truthfully." Jeanne was leaning over the side of the bed, looking at the girl. "Is it not true that I found you in Julien's bed?" she asked. "Yes, madame," moaned out Rosalie through her fingers. At that the baroness burst into tears also, and the sound of her sobs mingled with the maid's. "How long had that gone on?" asked Jeanne, her eyes fixed on the maid. "Ever since he came here," stammered Rosalie. "Since he came here," repeated Jeanne, hardly understanding what the words meant. "Do you mean since--since the spring?" "Yes, madame." "Since he first came to the house?" "Yes, madame." "But how did it happen? How did he come to say anything to you about it?" burst out Jeanne, as if she could keep back the questions no longer. "Did he force you, or did you give yourself to him? How could you do such a thing?" "I don't know," answered Rosalie, taking her hands from her face and speaking as if the words were forced from her by an irresistible desire to talk and to tell all. "The day he dined 'ere for the first time, 'e came up to my room. He 'ad 'idden in the garret and I dursn't cry out for fear of what everyone would say. He got into my bed, and I dunno' how it was or what I did, but he did just as 'e liked with me. I never said nothin' about it because I thought he was nice." "But your--your child? Is it his?" cried Jeanne.