out he pretended to read, scarcely knowing whether he wished her to succeed in the purpose which he was almost sure she entertained, or not.  She stopped by him, and passed her hand over his hair.  He told me that his eyes filled with tears at this caress.  Then she stood for a moment looking at the sleeping Madame Babette, and stooped down and softly kissed her on the forehead.  Pierre dreaded lest his mother should awake (for by this time the wayward, vacillating boy must have been quite on Virginie’s side), but the brandy she had drunk made her slumber heavily.  Virginie went.  Pierre’s heart beat fast.  He was sure his cousin would try to intercept her; but how, he could not imagine.  He longed to run out and see the catastrophe,—­but he had let the moment slip; he was also afraid of reawakening his mother to her unusual state of anger and violence.”

CHAPTER VIII.

“Pierre went on pretending to read, but in reality listening with acute tension of ear to every little sound.  His perceptions became so sensitive in this respect that he was incapable of measuring time, every moment had seemed so full of noises, from the beating of his heart up to the roll of the heavy carts in the distance.  He wondered whether Virginie would have reached the place of rendezvous, and yet he was unable to compute the passage of minutes.  His mother slept soundly:  that was well.  By this time Virginie must have met the ‘faithful cousin:’  if, indeed, Morin had not made his appearance.

“At length, he felt as if he could no longer sit still, awaiting the issue, but must run out and see what course events had taken.  In vain his mother, half-rousing herself, called after him to ask whither he was going:  he was already out of hearing before she had ended her sentence, and he ran on until, stopped by the sight of Mademoiselle Cannes walking along at so swift a pace that it was almost a run; while at her side, resolutely keeping by her, Morin was striding abreast.  Pierre had just turned the corner of the street, when he came upon them.  Virginie would have passed him without recognizing him, she was in such passionate agitation, but for Morin’s gesture, by which he would fain have kept Pierre from interrupting them.  Then, when Virginie saw the lad, she caught at his arm, and thanked God, as if in that boy of twelve or fourteen she held a protector.  Pierre felt her tremble from head to foot, and was afraid lest she would fall, there where she stood, in the hard rough street.

“‘Begone, Pierre!’ said Morin.

“‘I cannot,’ replied Pierre, who indeed was held firmly by Virginie.  ‘Besides, I won’t,’ he added.  ’Who has been frightening mademoiselle in this way?’ asked he, very much inclined to brave his cousin at all hazards.

“‘Mademoiselle is not accustomed to walk in the streets alone,’ said Morin, sulkily.  ’She came upon a crowd attracted by the arrest of an aristocrat, and their cries alarmed her.  I offered to take charge of her home.  Mademoiselle should not walk in these streets alone.  We are not like the cold-blooded people of the Faubourg Saint Germain.’