le, but as
inexplicable, as the resemblance of features. In a word, Fleur-de-Marie,
on learning that she was Rodolph's daughter, could have accounted to
herself for the strong affection she had for him, and thus, completely
enlightened on the point, she would have admired without a scruple her
father's manly beauty.

Thus do we explain Fleur-de-Marie's dejection. Although she was every
instant awaiting, according to Madame d'Harville's promise, her release
from St. Lazare, Fleur-de-Marie, melancholy and pensive, was seated on
her bench near the basin, looking with a kind of mechanical interest at
the sports of some bold little birds who came to play on the margin of
the stone-work. She had ceased for an instant to work at a baby's
nightgown, which she had just finished hemming. Need we say that this
nightgown belonged to the lying-in clothes so generously offered to Mont
Saint-Jean by the prisoners, through the kind intervention of
Fleur-de-Marie? The poor misshapen protegee of La Goualeuse was sitting
at her feet, working at a small cap, and, from time to time, casting at
her benefactress a look at once grateful, timid, and confiding, such a
look as a dog throws at his master. The beauty, attraction, and
delicious sweetness of Fleur-de-Marie had inspired this fallen creature
with sentiments of the most profound respect.

There is always something holy and great in the aspirations of a heart,
which, although degraded, yet feels for the first time sensations of
gratitude; and, up to this time, no one had ever given Mont Saint-Jean
the opportunity of even testifying whether or not she could comprehend
the religious ardour of a sentiment so wholly unknown to her. After some
moments Fleur-de-Marie shuddered slightly, wiped a tear from her eyes,
and resumed her sewing with much activity.

"You will not then leave off your work even during the time for rest, my
good angel?" said Mont Saint-Jean to La Goualeuse.

"I have not given you any money towards buying your lying-in clothes,
and I must therefore furnish my part with my own work," replied the
young girl.

"Your part! Why, but for you, instead of this good white linen, this
nice warm wrapper for my child, I should have nothing but the rags they
dragged in the mud of the yard. I am very grateful to my companions who
have been so very kind to me; that's quite true! But you!--ah, you!--how
can I tell you all I feel?" added the poor creature, hesitating, and
greatly emb