s breakfast--the gaol-allowance of bread and
vin ordinaire--was by his side. He must have slept soundly. He looked
for his master. He and Virginie had recognized each other now,--hearts,
as well as appearance. They were smiling into each other's faces, as if
that dull, vaulted room in the grim Abbaye were the sunny gardens of
Versailles, with music and festivity all abroad. Apparently they had
much to say to each other; for whispered questions and answers never
ceased.

"Virginie had made a sling for the poor broken arm; nay, she had obtained
two splinters of wood in some way, and one of their fellow-prisoners--having,
it appeared, some knowledge of surgery--had set it. Jacques felt more
desponding by far than they did, for he was suffering from the night he had
passed, which told upon his aged frame; while they must have heard some
good news, as it seemed to him, so bright and happy did they look. Yet
Clement was still in bodily pain and suffering, and Virginie, by her own
act and deed, was a prisoner in that dreadful Abbaye, whence the only
issue was the guillotine. But they were together: they loved: they
understood each other at length.

"When Virginie saw that Jacques was awake, and languidly munching his
breakfast, she rose from the wooden stool on which she was sitting, and
went to him, holding out both hands, and refusing to allow him to rise,
while she thanked him with pretty eagerness for all his kindness to
Monsieur. Monsieur himself came towards him, following Virginie, but
with tottering steps, as if his head was weak and dizzy, to thank the
poor old man, who now on his feet, stood between them, ready to cry while
they gave him credit for faithful actions which he felt to have been
almost involuntary on his part,--for loyalty was like an instinct in the
good old days, before your educational cant had come up. And so two days
went on. The only event was the morning call for the victims, a certain
number of whom were summoned to trial every day. And to be tried was to
be condemned. Every one of the prisoners became grave, as the hour for
their summons approached. Most of the victims went to their doom with
uncomplaining resignation, and for a while after their departure there
was comparative silence in the prison. But, by-and-by--so said
Jacques--the conversation or amusements began again. Human nature cannot
stand the perpetual pressure of such keen anxiety, without an effort to
relieve itse