"Caves and
serpent worshippers truly!" she cried. "Why, she has not
seen Jacques!" and when, in the boat, George, who was
greatly alarmed, tried to rouse his mother from her
silent stupor, Lisa said gayly, "She will be herself
again as soon as she sees HIM."
When they reached Larmor Baden, she despatched George in
search of Colette and the child, and she went into the
church. It was late, and the village women sat on the
steps gossipping in the slanting sunlight. There is
nothing in their lives but work and the church; and when,
each day, they have finished with one they go to the
other.
Frances followed her. The sombre little church was
vacant. She touched Lisa on the shoulder.
"There is something I must tell you," she said. "You
would not let me touch the child, if you knew it."
She stooped and spoke a few sentences in a vehement
whisper, and then leaned back, exhausted, against the
wall.
Lisa drew back. Her lips were white with sudden fright,
but she scanned Mrs. Waldeaux's face keenly.
"You were in Vannes last night? You tried---- My God,
I remember! The tisane tasted queerly, and I threw it
out." She walked away for a moment, and then turning,
said, "You called my mother a vile woman once. But SHE
would not have done that thing!
"No," said Frances, not raising her head. "No."
Lisa stood looking at her as she crouched against the
wall. The fierce scorn slowly died out of her eyes. She
was a coarse, but a good-natured, woman.
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