you were doubly to be pitied."

"Yes, that is very true, thanks to you; I shall never forget it. But,
tell me, Goualeuse, why did she the other day request to have her
quarters changed,--La Louve, she, who, in spite of her passionate
temper, seemed unable to do without you?"

"She is rather wilful."

"How odd! A woman, who came this morning from the quarter of the prison
where La Louve now is, says that she is wholly changed."

"How?"

"Instead of quarrelling and contending with everybody, she is sad, quite
sad, and sits by herself, and if they speak to her she turns her back
and makes no answer. It is really wonderful to see her quite still, who
used always to be making such a riot; and then the woman says another
thing, which I really cannot believe."

"And what is that?"

"Why, that she had seen La Louve crying; La Louve crying,--that's
impossible!"

"Poor Louve! It was on my account she changed her quarters; I vexed her
without intending it," said La Goualeuse, with a sigh.

"You vex any one, my good angel?"

At this moment, the inspectress, Madame Armand, entered the yard. After
having looked for Fleur-de-Marie, she came towards her with a smiling
and satisfied air.

"Good news, my child."

"What do you mean, madame?" said La Goualeuse, rising.

"Your friends have not forgotten you, they have obtained your discharge;
the governor has just received the information."

"Can it be possible, madame? Ah, what happiness!"

Fleur-de-Marie's emotion was so violent that she turned pale, placed her
hand on her heart, which throbbed violently, and fell back on the seat.

"Don't agitate yourself, my poor girl," said Madame Armand, kindly.
"Fortunately these shocks are not dangerous."

"Ah, madame, what gratitude!"

"No doubt it is Madame d'Harville who has obtained your liberty. There
is an elderly female charged to conduct you to the persons who are
interested in you. Wait for me, I will return for you; I have some
directions to give in the work-room."

It would be difficult to paint the expression of extreme desolation
which overcast the features of Mont Saint-Jean, when she learned that
her good angel, as she called La Goualeuse, was about to quit St.
Lazare. This woman's grief was less caused by the fear of becoming
again the ill-used butt of the prison, than by her anguish at seeing
herself separated from the only being who had ever testified any
interest in her.

Still seated at the foot of th