for, at some risk to herself,
she had warned both him and his daughter of the danger impending over
them. But he, infatuated, would not believe that his dear Human Race
could ever do him harm; and, as long as he did not fear, Virginie was not
afraid. It was by some ruse, the nature of which I never heard, that
Madame Babette induced Virginie to come to her abode at the very hour in
which the Count had been recognized in the streets, and hurried off to
the Lanterne. It was after Babette had got her there, safe shut up in
the little back den, that she told her what had befallen her father. From
that day, Virginie had never stirred out of the gates, or crossed the
threshold of the porter's lodge. I do not say that Madame Babette was
tired of her continual presence, or regretted the impulse which made her
rush to the De Crequy's well-known house--after being compelled to form
one of the mad crowds that saw the Count de Crequy seized and hung--and
hurry his daughter out, through alleys and backways, until at length she
had the orphan safe in her own dark sleeping-room, and could tell her
tale of horror: but Madame Babette was poorly paid for her porter's work
by her avaricious brother; and it was hard enough to find food for
herself and her growing boy; and, though the poor girl ate little enough,
I dare say, yet there seemed no end to the burthen that Madame Babette
had imposed upon herself: the De Crequys were plundered, ruined, had
become an extinct race, all but a lonely friendless girl, in broken
health and spirits; and, though she lent no positive encouragement to his
suit, yet, at the time, when Clement reappeared in Paris, Madame Babette
was beginning to think that Virginie might do worse than encourage the
attentions of Monsieur Morin Fils, her nephew, and the wine merchant's
son. Of course, he and his father had the entree into the conciergerie
of the hotel that belonged to them, in right of being both proprietors
and relations. The son, Morin, had seen Virginie in this manner. He was
fully aware that she was far above him in rank, and guessed from her
whole aspect that she had lost her natural protectors by the terrible
guillotine; but he did not know her exact name or station, nor could he
persuade his aunt to tell him. However, he fell head over ears in love
with her, whether she were princess or peasant; and though at first there
was something about her which made his passionate love conceal itself
with