e last night in reference to my protegee."

"What! La Goualeuse?"

"Yes, madame."

"In what way?"

"Frequently, when the prisoners are asleep, I walk through the
dormitories. You would scarcely believe, my lady, how the countenances
of these women differ in expression whilst they are slumbering. A good
number of them, whom I have seen during the day, saucy, careless, bold,
insolent, have appeared entirely changed when sleep has removed from
their features all exaggeration of bravado; for, alas, vice has its
pride! Oh, madame, what sad revelations on those dejected, mournful, and
gloomy faces! What painful sighs, involuntarily elicited by some dream.
I was speaking to your ladyship just now of the girl they call La
Louve,--an untamed, untamable creature. It is but a fortnight since that
she abused me in the vilest terms before all the prisoners. I shrugged
up my shoulders, and my indifference whetted her rage. Then, in order to
offend me more sorely, she began to say all sorts of disgraceful things
of my mother, whom she had often seen come here to visit me."

"What a shameful creature!"

"I confess that, although this attack was not worth minding, yet it made
me feel uncomfortable. La Louve perceived this, and rejoiced in it. The
same night, about midnight, I went to inspect the dormitories; I went to
La Louve's bedside (she was not to be put in the dark cell until next
day) and I was struck with her calmness,--I might say the sweetness of
her countenance,--compared with the harsh and daring expression which is
habitual to it. Her features seemed suppliant, filled with regret and
contrition; her lips were half open, her breast seemed oppressed,
and--what appeared to me incredible, for I thought it impossible--two
tears, two large tears, were in the eyes of this woman, whose
disposition was of iron! I looked at her in silence for several minutes,
when I heard her say, 'Pardon! Pardon! Her mother!' I listened more
attentively, but all I could catch, in the midst of a murmur scarcely
intelligible, was my name, 'Madame Armand,' uttered with a sigh."

"She repented, during her sleep, of having uttered this bad language
about your mother."

"So I believe; and that made me less severe. No doubt she desired,
through a miserable vanity, to increase her natural insolence in her
companions' eyes, whilst, perhaps, a good instinct made her repent in
her sleep."

"And did she evince any repentance for her bad behaviour nex