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Poussette, for it was she, possessed more discretion than sense, and more sense than wit; she looked calmly upon her patient as upon a stranger and set about her work in silence.

New resolution showed in his features; he dropped her hand which he had been holding and turned back towards Poussette's.

No gossip had reached him where he lay at Archibald Groom's, with Madame Poussette watching him, nor at the Hotel Champlain where he had staggered the night before for a mad moment only, as he asked for news of Crabbe and was told that he gone back to St. Ignace; therefore he knew nothing of the affaire Archambault, as some of the provincial papers called it, and had heard only the bare facts of Henry Clairville's death and burial.

Father Rielle, though listening intently, still kept his gaze riveted on the peculiar actions of the men outside Poussette's.

"Has not mademoiselle already waited overlong?" exclaimed Poussette.