However, the fainting girl whom he sought came toward him at that
moment. The noise her brother had made at the door brought Amelie to the
landing; but, without doubt, the excitement which Roland's return had
occasioned was too much for her, for after descending a few steps in an
almost automatic manner, controlling herself by a violent effort, she
gave a sigh, and, like a flower that bends, a branch that droops, like
a scarf that floats, she fell, or rather lay, upon the stairs. It was at
that moment that the child cried out.

But at his exclamation Amelie recovered, if not her strength, at least
her will. She rose, and, stammering, "Be quiet, Edouard! Be quite, in
Heaven's name! I'm all right," she clung to the balustrade with one
hand, and leaning with the other on the child, she had continued to
descend. On the last step she met her mother and her brother. Then
with a violent, almost despairing movement, she threw both arms around
Roland's neck, exclaiming: "My brother! My brother!"

Roland, feeling the young girl's weight press heavily upon his shoulder,
exclaimed: "Air! Air! She is fainting!" and carried her out upon the
portico. It was this new group, so different from the first, which met
Sir John's eyes.

As soon as she felt the fresh air, Amelie revived and raised her head.
Just then the moon, in all her splendor, shook off a cloud which had
veiled her, and lighted Amelie's face, as pale as her own. Sir John gave
a cry of admiration. Never had he seen a marble statue so perfect as
this living marble before his eyes.

We must say that Amelie, seen thus, was marvelously beautiful. Clad in
a long cambric robe, which defined the outlines of her body, molded on
that of the Polyhymnia of antiquity, her pale face gently inclined upon
her brother's shoulder, her long golden hair floating around her snowy
shoulders, her arm thrown around her mother's neck, its rose-tinted
alabaster hand drooping upon the red shawl in which Madame de Montrevel
had wrapped herself; such was Roland's sister as she appeared to Sir
John.

At the Englishman's cry of admiration, Roland remembered that he was
there, and Madame de Montrevel perceived his presence. As for the child,
surprised to see this stranger in his mother's home, he ran hastily down
the steps of the portico, stopping on the third one, not that he
feared to go further, but in order to be on a level with the person he
proceeded to question.

"Who are you, sir!" he