bout to ask for a
consultation of Parisian doctors, recovered hope. They placed her on
her uncle's sofa, and such was the character of her beauty that she
lay there in her mourning garments, pale from suffering, she was
more exquisitely lovely than in the happiest hours of her life. When
Savinien, with his mother on his arm, entered the room she colored
vividly.

"Do not rise, my child," said the old lady imperatively; "weak and ill
as I am myself, I wished to come and tell you my feelings about what is
happening. I respect you as the purest, the most religious and excellent
girl in the Gatinais; and I think you worthy to make the happiness of a
gentleman."

At first poor Ursula was unable to answer; she took the withered hands
of Savinien's mother and kissed them.

"Ah, madame," she said in a faltering voice, "I should never have had
the boldness to think of rising above my condition if I had not been
encouraged by promises; my only claim was that of an affection without
bounds; but now they have found the means to separate me from him I
love,--they have made me unworthy of him. Never!" she cried, with a ring
in her voice which painfully affected those about her, "never will I
consent to give to any man a degraded hand, a stained reputation. I
loved too well,--yes, I can admit it in my present condition,--I love a
creature almost as I love God, and God--"

"Hush, my child! do not calumniate God. Come, my daughter," said the old
lady, making an effort, "do not exaggerate the harm done by an infamous
joke in which no one believes. I give you my word, you will live and you
shall be happy."

"We shall be happy!" cried Savinien, kneeling beside Ursula and kissing
her hand; "my mother has called you her daughter."

"Enough, enough," said the doctor feeling his patient's pulse; "do not
kill her with joy."

At that moment Goupil, who found the street door ajar, opened that of
the little salon, and showed his hideous face blazing with thoughts of
vengeance which had crowded into his mind as he hurried along.

"Monsieur de Portenduere," he said, in a voice like the hissing of a
viper forced from its hole.

"What do you want?" said Savinien, rising from his knees.

"I have a word to say to you."

Savinien left the room, and Goupil took him into the little courtyard.

"Swear to me by Ursula's life, by your honor as a gentleman, to do by me
as if I had never told you what I am about to tell. Do this, and I
will reve