Her wilful imagination traced the cross upon his breast--it almost seemed as if it were outside upon his clothes, exposed to every eye, a shining thing all fire, not a wound inside, for which old Margot prepared oiled linen now.
The parish was as perturbed as her own mind, for the mystery of the stolen cross had never been cleared up, and a few still believed that M'sieu' had taken it.

They were of those who kept hinting at dark things which would yet be worked upon the infidel in the tailor's shop.

These were they to whom the Curb's beautiful ambition did not appeal.

He had said that if the man were an infidel, then they must pray that he be brought into the fold; but a few were still suspicious, and they said in Rosalie's presence: "Where is the little cross?
M'sieu' knows." He did know.

That was the worst of it.