rthy persons who, no doubt, are excessively uneasy
on my account."

"Rely on my discretion. I will only say what you authorise me to
disclose."

"Oh, thanks, madame! I was so fearful that my silence towards my
benefactors would appear like ingratitude!"

The gentle accents of Fleur-de-Marie, and her well-selected phrases,
struck Madame d'Harville with fresh surprise.

"I will not conceal from you," said she, "that your demeanour, your
language, all surprise me in a remarkable degree. How could you, with an
education which appears polished,--how could you--"

"Fall so low, you would say, madame?" said Goualeuse, with bitterness.
"Alas! It is but a very short time that I have received this education.
I owe this benefit to a generous protector, who, like you, madame,
without knowing me, without even having the favourable recommendation
which you have received in my favour, took pity upon me--"

"And who is this protector?"

"I do not know, madame."

"You do not know?"

"He only makes himself known, they tell me, by his inexhaustible
goodness. Thanks be to Heaven, he found me in his path!"

"And when did you first meet?"

"One night,--in the Cite, madame," said Goualeuse, lowering her eyes, "a
man was going to beat me; this unknown benefactor defended me
courageously; this was my first meeting with him."

"Then he was one of the people?"

"The first time I saw him he had the dress and language; but
afterwards--"

"Afterwards?"

"The way in which he spoke to me, the profound respect with which he was
treated by the persons to whom he confided me, all proved to me that he
had only assumed the exterior disguise of one of the men who are seen
about the Cite."

"But with what motive?"

"I do not know."

"And do you know the name of this mysterious protector?"

"Oh, yes, madame," said La Goualeuse, with excitement; "thank Heaven!
For I can incessantly bless and adore that name. My preserver is called
M. Rodolph, madame."

Clemence blushed deeply.

"And has he no other name," she asked, quickly, of Fleur-de-Marie.

"I know no other, madame. In the farm, where he sent me, he was only
known as M. Rodolph."

"And his age?"

"Still young, madame."

"And handsome?"

"Oh, yes! Handsome,--noble as his own heart."

The grateful and impassioned accent with which Fleur-de-Marie uttered
these words caused a deeply painful sensation in Madame d'Harville's
bosom. An unconquerable and inexplicable presenti