owed down by this fresh and
terrible blow. And Louise Morel--"

"Declares her innocence, and affirms her child was born dead; and it
seems as if hers were accents of truth. Since your ladyship takes an
interest in this family, if you would be so good as to see the poor
girl, perhaps this mark of your kindness might soothe her despair, which
they tell me is really alarming."

"Certainly I will see her; then I shall have two protegees instead of
one, Louise Morel and La Goualeuse, for all you tell me relative to this
poor girl interests me excessively. But what must be done to obtain her
liberty? I will then find a situation for her. I will take care of her
in future."

"With your connections, madame, it will be very easy for you to obtain
her liberty the day after to-morrow, for it is at the discretion of the
Prefect of Police, and the application of a person of consequence would
be decisive with him. But I have wandered from the observation which I
made on the slumber of La Goualeuse; and, with reference to this, I must
confess that I should not be astonished if, to the deeply painful
feeling of her first error, there is added some other grief no less
severe."

"What mean you, madame?"

"Perhaps I am deceived; but I should not be astonished if this young
girl, rescued by some circumstance from the degradation in which she was
first plunged, has now some honest love, which is at the same time her
happiness and her torment."

"What are your reasons for believing this?"

"The determined silence which she keeps as to where she has passed the
three months which followed her departure from the Cite makes me think
that she fears being discovered by the persons with whom she in all
probability found a shelter."

"Why should she fear this?"

"Because then she would have to own to a previous life, of which they
are no doubt ignorant."

"True; her peasant's dress."

"And then a subsequent circumstance has confirmed my suspicions.
Yesterday evening, when I was walking my round of inspection in the
dormitory, I went up to La Goualeuse's bed. She was in a deep sleep,
and, unlike her companions, her features were calm and tranquil. Her
long, light hair, half disengaged from their bands, fell in profusion
down her neck and shoulders. Her two small hands were clasped, and
crossed over her bosom, as if she had gone to sleep whilst praying. I
looked for some moments with interest at her lovely face, when, in a low
voice, a