cted the smith to whom Maurice was bound
apprentice, and remembered his _patois_ accent.

"I remember you," said he, "at any rate; and your goodness to that poor
girl the day her arm was broken, and all your goodness to Maurice. But
I've no time for talking of that now--get up, wrap this great coat round
you--don't be in a hurry, but make no noise--and follow me."

She followed him; and he led her past the sleeping sentinels, opened a
back door into the garden, hurried her (almost carried her) across the
garden to a door at the furthest end of it, which opened into Les Champs
Elysees--"La voila!" cried he, pushing her through the half-opened door.
"God be praised!" answered a voice, which Madame de Fleury knew to be
Victoire's, whose arms were thrown round her with a transport of joy.

"Softly; she is not safe yet--wait till we get her home, Victoire," said
another voice, which she knew to be that of Maurice. He produced a dark
lantern, and guided Madame de Fleury across the Champs Elysees, and
across the bridge, and then through various by-streets, in perfect
silence, till they arrived safely at the house where Victoire's mother
lodged, and went up those very stairs which she had ascended in such
different circumstances several years before. The mother, who was
sitting up waiting most anxiously for the return of her children, clasped
her hands in an ecstasy when she saw them return with Madame de Fleury.

"Welcome, madame! Welcome, dear madame! but who would have thought of
seeing you here in such a way? Let her rest herself--let her rest; she
is quite overcome. Here, madame, can you sleep on this poor bed?"

"The very same bed you laid me upon the day my arm was broken," said
Victoire.

"Ay, Lord bless her!" said the mother; "and though it's seven good years
ago, it seemed but yesterday that I saw her sitting on that bed beside my
poor child looking like an angel. But let her rest, let her rest--we'll
not say a word more, only God bless her; thank Heaven, she's safe with us
at last!"

Madame de Fleury expressed unwillingness to stay with these good people,
lest she should expose them to danger; but they begged most earnestly
that she would remain with them without scruple.

"Surely, madame," said the mother, "you must think that we have some
remembrance of all you have done for us, and some touch of gratitude."

"And surely, madame, you can trust us, I hope," said Maurice.

"And surely you are not too