“No, mam’zelle.  He went away this morning, as soon as he was sure you would recover without his help.  He said that to see him might do you more harm, trouble you more, than he could do you good by his medicines.  He and Monsieur le Cure parted good friends, though they were not of the same mind about you.  ‘Let her stay here,’ says Monsieur le Cure.  ’She must return to England,’ says Dr. Martin.  ’Mam’zelle must be free to choose for herself,’ I said.  They both smiled, and said yes, I was right.  You must be free.”

“Why did no one tell me he was here?  Why did Minima keep it a secret?” I asked.

“He forbade us to tell you.  He did not wish to disquiet you.  He said to me:  ’If she ever wishes to see me, I would come gladly from London to Ville-en-bois’, only to hear her say, ‘Good-morning, Dr. Martin.’  ’But I will not see her now, unless she is seriously ill.’  I felt that he was right, Dr. Martin is always right.”

I did not speak when Tardif paused, as if to hear what I had to say.  I heard him sigh as softly as a woman sighs.

“If you could only come back to my poor little house!” he said; “but that is impossible.  My poor mother died in the spring, and I am living alone.  It is desolate, but I am not unhappy.  I have my boat and the sea, where I am never solitary.  But why should I talk of myself?  We were speaking of what you are to do.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I said, despondently; “you see Tardif, I have not a single friend I could go to in England.  I shall have to stay here in Ville-en-bois.”

“No,” he answered; “Dr. Martin has some plan for you, I know, though he did not tell me what it is.  He said you would have a home offered to you, such as you would accept gladly.  I think it is in Guernsey.”

“With his mother, perhaps,” I suggested.

“His mother, mam’zelle!” he repeated; “alas! no.  His mother is dead; she died only a few weeks after you left Sark.”

I felt as if I had lost an old friend whom I had known for a long time, though I had only seen her once.  In my greatest difficulty I had thought of making my way to her, and telling her all my history.  I did not know what other home could open for me, if she were dead.

“Dr. Dobree married a second wife only three months after,” pursued Tardif, “and Dr. Martin left Guernsey altogether, and went to London, to be a partner with his friend, Dr. Senior.”

“Dr. John Senior?” I said.

“Yes, mam’zelle,” he answered.

“Why!  I know him,” I exclaimed; “I recollect his face well.  He is handsomer than Dr. Martin.  But whom did Dr. Dobree marry?”

“I do not know whether he is handsomer than Dr. Martin,” said Tardif, in a grieved tone.  “Who did Dr. Dobree marry?  Oh! a foreigner.  No Guernsey lady would have married him so soon after Mrs. Dobree’s death.  She was a great friend of Miss Julia Dobree.  Her name was Daltrey.”