e report of your being in a hopeless
state. Your mother, my man,--your own mother!"

"Hold!" cried Martial, with bitterness; "mention her not." Then for the
first time remarking the wet garments and singular state of La Louve's
attire, he added, "But what has happened to you? Your hair is dripping
wet; you have only your underclothes on; and they are drenched through."

"No matter, no matter what has happened to me, since you are saved. Oh,
yes,--saved!"

"But explain to me how you became thus wet through."

"I knew you were in danger, and finding no boat--"

"You swam to my rescue?"

"I did. But your hands? Give them to me that I may heal them with my
kisses! You are in pain, I fear? Oh, the monsters! And I not here to
help you!"

"Oh, my brave Louve!" exclaimed Martial, enthusiastically; "bravest and
best of all brave creatures!"

"Did not your hand trace on my arm 'Death to the cowardly?' See!" cried
La Louve, showing her tattooed arm, on which these very words were
indelibly engraved.

"Yes, you are bold and intrepid; but the cold has seized you,--you
tremble!"

"Indeed, it is not with cold."

"Never mind,--go in there. You will find Calabash's cloak; wrap yourself
well in it."

"But--"

"I insist!"

In an instant La Louve, who had quickly flown at her lover's second
command, returned wrapped in a plaid mantle.

"To think you ran the risk of drowning yourself,--and all for me!"
resumed Martial, gazing on her with enthusiastic delight.

"Oh, no, not altogether for you. A poor girl was nearly perishing in the
river, and I saved her as I landed."

"Saved her also. And where is she?"

"Below with the children, who are taking care of her."

"And who is she?"

"Oh, dear, you can scarcely credit what a singular and lucky chance
brought me to her rescue! She was one of my companions at St. Lazare,--a
most extraordinary sort of girl. Oh, you don't half know--"

"How so?"

"Only conceive my both hating and loving her; for she had introduced
happiness and death into my heart and thoughts."

"Who? This girl?"

"Yes; and all on your account."

"On mine?"

"Hark ye, Martial!" Then interrupting her proposed speech, La Louve
continued, "No, no; I never, never can--"

"What?"

"I had a request to make to you, and for that purpose I came hither;
because when I quitted Paris I knew nothing of your danger."

"Then speak,--pray do!"

"I dare not."

"Dare not,--after all you have done for me?"