rything else that she had with her, she furtively--but
ready, if need were, to fight for her liberty with the strength of
desperation--slipped down the broad stairs over their thick carpet and
pushed open a little glass door. Thank heaven! people came in and went
out of that house as if it had been a mill. No one discovered her
flight till the next morning, when she was far on her way to Paris in
an express train. Modeste, quite unprepared for her young mistress's
arrival, was amazed to see her drop down upon her, feverish and excited,
like some poor hunted animal, with strength exhausted. Jacqueline flung
herself into her nurse's arms as she used to do when, as a little girl,
she was in what she fancied some great trouble, and she cried: "Oh,
take me in--pray take me in! Keep me safe! Hide me!" And then she told
Modeste everything, speaking rapidly and disconnectedly, thankful to
have some one to whom she could open her heart. In default of Modeste
she would have spoken to stone walls.

"And what will you do now, my poor darling?" asked the old nurse, as
soon as she understood that her young lady had come back to her, "with
weary foot and broken wing," from what she had assured her on her
departure would be a brilliant excursion.

"Oh! I don't know," answered Jacqueline, in utter discouragement; "I am
too worn out to think or to do anything. Let me rest; that is all."

"Why don't you go to see your stepmother?"

"My stepmother? Oh, no! She is at the bottom of all that has happened to
me."

"Or Madame d'Argy? Or Madame de Talbrun? Madame de Talbrun is the one
who would give you good advice."

Jacqueline shook her head with a sad smile.

"Let me stay here. Don't you remember--years ago--but it seems like
yesterday--all the rest is like a nightmare--how I used to hide myself
under your petticoats, and you would say, going on with your knitting:
'You see she is not here; I can't think where she can be.' Hide me now
just like that, dear old Modeste. Only hide me."

And Modeste, full of heartfelt pity, promised to hide her "dear child"
from every one, which promise, however, did not prevent her, for she
was very self-willed, from going, without Jacqueline's knowledge, to see
Madame de Talbrun and tell her all that had taken place. She was hurt
and amazed at her reception by Giselle, and at her saying, without any
offer of help or words of sympathy, "She has only reaped what she has
sown." Giselle would have been mor