“Well, it is a mystery which time no doubt will clear up. Meanwhile, let us be thankful to God,” said the Cure.
They parted, the Cure going through a side-gate into his own garden, Jo passing out of the churchyard-gate through which Rosalie had gone. He looked down the road towards the village.
“Well!” said a voice in his ear. Paulette Dubois stood before him.
“It was you, then,” he said, with a glowering look. “What did you want with it?”
“What do you want with the hood in your coat there?” She threw her head back with a spiteful laugh. “Whose do you think it is?” he said quietly.
“You and the schoolmaster made verses about her once.”
“It was Rosalie Evanturel?” he asked, with aggravating composure.
“You have the hood-look at it! You saw her running down the road; I saw her come, watched her, and saw her go. She is a thief--pretty Rosalie--thief and postmistress! No doubt she takes letters too.”
“The ones you wait for, and that never come--eh?” Her face darkened with rage and hatred. “I will tell the world she’s a thief,” she sneered.
“You will.” She was hard and fierce, and looked him in the eyes squarely. “You’ll give evidence quick enough, if I ask you.”
“I wouldn’t do anything you asked me to-nothing, if it was to save my life.”
“I’ll prove her a thief without you. She can’t deny it.”
“If you try it, I’ll--” He stopped, husky and shaking.
“You’ll kill me, eh? You killed him, and you didn’t hang. Oh no, you wouldn’t kill me, Jo,” she added quickly, in a changed voice. “You’ve had enough of that kind of thing. If I’d been you, I’d rather have hung--ah, sure!” She suddenly came close to him. “Do you hate me so bad, Jo?” she said anxiously. “It’s eight years--do you hate me so bad as then?”
“You keep your tongue off Rosalie Evanturel,” he said, and turned on his heel.
She caught his arm. “We’re both bad, Jo. Can’t we be friends?” she said eagerly, her voice shaking.
“Don’t drive a woman too hard,” she said between her teeth.
“Threats! Pah!” he rejoined. “What do you think I’m made of?”
“I’ll find that out,” she said, and, turning on her heel, ran down the road towards the Manor House. “What had Rosalie to do with the cross?” Jo said to himself. “This is her hood.” He took it out and looked at it. “It’s her hood--but what did she want with the cross?”