m Mere Esther to be calm and not agitate the
dying girl. The moment he entered the great parlor, Amelie sprang from
her seat with a sudden cry of recognition, extending her poor thin
hands through the bars towards him. Pierre seized them, kissing them
passionately, but broke down utterly at the sight of her wasted face and
the seal of death set thereon.

"Amelie, my darling Amelie!" exclaimed he; "I have prayed so long to see
you, and they would not let me in."

"It was partly my fault, Pierre," said she fondly. "I feared to let you
see me. I feared to learn that you hate, as you have cause to do, the
whole house of Repentigny! And yet you do not curse me, dear Pierre?"

"My poor angel, you break my heart! I curse the house of Repentigny? I
hate you? Amelie, you know me better."

"But your good father, the noble and just Bourgeois! Oh, Pierre, what
have we not done to you and yours!"

She fell back upon her pillow, covering her eyes with her
semi-transparent hands, bursting, as she did so, into a flood of
passionate tears and passing into a dead faint.

Pierre was wild with anguish. He pressed against the bars. "For God's
sake, let me in!" exclaimed he; "she is dying!"

The two quiet nuns who were in attendance shook their heads at Pierre's
appeal to open the door. They were too well disciplined in the iron rule
of the house to open it without an express order from the Lady Superior,
or from Mere Esther. Their bosoms, abounding in spiritual warmth,
responded coldly to the contagion of mere human passion. Their ears,
unused to the voice of man's love, tingled at the words of Pierre.
Fortunately, Mere Esther, ever on the watch, came into the parlor, and,
seeing at a glance the need of the hour, opened the iron door and bade
Pierre come in. He rushed forward and threw himself at the feet of
Amelie, calling her by the most tender appellatives, and seeking to
recall her to a consciousness of his presence.

That loved, familiar voice overtook her spirit, already winging its
flight from earth, and brought it back for a few minutes longer. Mere
Esther, a skilful nurse, administered a few drops of cordial, and,
seeing her dying condition, sent instantly for the physician and the
chaplain.

Amelie opened her eyes and turned them inquiringly around the group
until they fastened upon Pierre. A flash of fondness suddenly suffused
her face, as she remembered how and why he was there. She threw her
arms around his neck and