“Roses!” cried Uncle Bertrand.  “Is it that the child is mad?  They are the jewels of my sister Clotilde.”

Elizabeth clasped her hands and leaned towards Dr. Norris, the tears streaming from her uplifted eyes.

“Ah! monsieur,” she sobbed, “you will understand.  It was for the poor—­they suffer so much.  If we do not help them our souls will be lost.  I did not mean to speak falsely.  I thought the Saints—­the Saints—–­” But her sobs filled her throat, and she could not finish.  Dr. Norris stopped, and took her in his strong arms as if she had been a baby.

“Quick!” he said, imperatively; “we must return to the carriage, De Rochemont.  This is a serious matter.”

Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands.

“But the poor woman who starves?” she cried.  “The little children—­they sit up on the step quite near—­the food was for them!  I pray you give it to them.”

“Yes, they shall have it,” said the Doctor.  “Take the basket, De Rochemont—­only a few doors below.”  And it appeared that there was something in his voice which seemed to render obedience necessary, for Monsieur de Rochemont actually did as he was told.

For a moment Dr. Norris put Elizabeth on her feet again, but it was only while he removed his overcoat and wrapped it about her slight shivering body.

“You are chilled through, poor child,” he said; “and you are not strong enough to walk just now.  You must let me carry you.”

It was true that a sudden faintness had come upon her, and she could not restrain the shudder which shook her.  It still shook her when she was placed in the carriage which the two gentlemen had thought it wiser to leave in one of the more respectable streets when they went to explore the worse ones together.

“What might not have occurred if we had not arrived at that instant!” said Uncle Bertrand when he got into the carriage.  “As it is who knows what illness—­”

“It will be better to say as little as possible now,” said Dr. Norris.

“It was for the poor,” said Elizabeth, trembling.  “I had prayed to the Saints to tell me what was best I thought I must go.  I did not mean to do wrong.  It was for the poor.”

And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her with a strangely agitated look, and Dr. Norris held her hand between his strong and warm ones, the tears rolled down her pure, pale little face.

She did not know until some time after what danger she had been in, that the part of the city into which she had wandered was the lowest and worst, and was in some quarters the home of thieves and criminals of every class.  As her Uncle Bertrand had said, it was impossible to say what terrible thing might have happened if they had not met her so soon.  It was Dr. Norris who explained it all to her as gently and kindly as was possible.  She had always been fragile, and she had caught a severe cold which caused her an illness of some weeks.  It was Dr. Norris