ment as fear.

"Take courage, my child," said Madame de Fermont, embracing her
tenderly; "the wretch has gone."

"Oh, mamma, if he should come back again! You see, though you cried so
loud for help, no one came. Oh, pray let us leave this house, or I shall
die with fear!"

"How you tremble; you are quite in a fever."

"No, no," said the young girl, to reassure her mother, "it is
nothing--only fright,--and that will soon pass away. And you,--how do
you feel? Give me your hands. Oh, how they burn! It is, indeed, you who
are suffering; and you try to conceal it from me!"

"Don't think so; I feel better than I did. It is only the fright that
man caused me which makes me so. I was sleeping soundly in my chair,
and only awoke when you did."

"Yet, mamma, your poor eyes look so red and inflamed!"

"Why, you see, my dear, one does not sleep so refreshingly in a chair."

"And you really do not suffer?"

"No, no, I assure you. And you?"

"Nor I either. I only tremble with fear. Pray, mamma, let us leave this
house!"

"And where shall we go to? You know what trouble we had to find this
miserable chamber; for, unfortunately, we have no papers,--and, besides,
we have paid a fortnight in advance. They will not return our money; and
we have so very, very little left, that we must take all possible care
of it."

"Perhaps M. de Saint-Remy will answer you in a day or two."

"I cannot hope for that. It is so long since I wrote to him."

"He cannot have received your letter. Why did not you write to him
again? From here to Angers is not so far, and we should soon have his
answer."

"My poor child, you know how much that has cost me already!"

"But there's no risk; and he is so good in spite of his roughness.
Wasn't he one of the oldest friends of my father? And then he is a
relation of ours."

"But he is poor himself,--his fortune is very small. Perhaps he does not
reply to us that he may avoid the pain of a refusal."

"But he may not have received your letter, mamma!"

"And if he has received it, my dear,--one of two things, either he is
himself in too painful a position to come to our aid, or he feels no
interest in us. What, then, is the use of exposing ourselves to a
refusal or humiliation?"

"Come, come, courage, mamma; we have still a hope left. Perhaps this
very morning will bring us a kind answer."

"From M. d'Orbigny?"

"Yes; the letter of which you had made the rough copy was so simple and
touching.