e and ordered me to put another prisoner in this cell. It is
annoying, but, never mind; when the new-comers arrive I will choose your
room-mate, and you will be pleased with her."

This intelligence was exceedingly unwelcome to Dolores, but the hope of
seeing Philip the next day greatly mitigated her regret. She had just
left her bed the next morning, when she heard footsteps in the corridor.
She hastily completed her toilet, and had hardly done so when the key
turned in the lock. The door opened and Aubry entered. He was not alone;
but Dolores could not distinguish the features of the lady who
accompanied him, on account of the dim light and the thick veil that
shrouded her face.

"Here is your companion," Aubry whispered to Dolores. "I hope you will
be pleased with my selection. Poor little thing, she seems worn out and
terribly dejected."

The stranger, without lifting her veil, had seated herself upon her bed
in an attitude which indicated intense fatigue or despondency. Aubry
gave her a few directions to which she listened abstractedly, without
replying or even looking at the jailer, who then withdrew. Dolores,
after a moment, approached the stranger and said:

"Since we are to be together for a time more or less long, shall we not
be friends?"

At the sound of the girl's voice, the stranger trembled; then she rose
and looked Dolores full in the face with a strange intentness.

"Shall we not be friends!" she repeated. "Dolores, do you not know me?"

It was Dolores' turn to tremble. She clasped her hands, uttered a cry of
astonishment in which one could detect both consternation and joy; then,
springing forward, she hastily lifted the veil which hid the face of the
speaker.

"Antoinette! Antoinette!"

"Dolores, you here!"

They were again in each other's arms after four long years of
separation, kissing each other, questioning each other, smiling and
weeping by turns.

"Tell me about yourself!" cried Antoinette.

"All in good time, my dearest," replied Dolores. "First, lie down and
rest. You look weary and are pale with fatigue."

"I was travelling all night!"

Dolores helped her remove her damp clothing and made her lie down upon
her own bed; then she left her a moment to ask Aubry to bring a cup of
coffee to her weary friend. That worthy man exhibited his accustomed
zeal, and soon the two young-girls, one reclining on her couch, the
other seated by her bedside were talking of the past. But their