“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 itself by thinking of something else.  Jacques said that Monsieur and Mademoiselle were for ever talking together of the past days,—­it was ‘Do you remember this?’ or, ‘Do you remember that?’ perpetually.  He sometimes thought they forgot where they were, and what was before them.  But Jacques did not, and every day he trembled more and more as the list was called over.

“The third morning of their incarceration, the gaoler brought in a man whom Jacques did not recognize, and therefore did not at once observe; for he was waiting, as in duty bound, upon his master and his sweet young lady (as he always called her in repeating the story).  He thought that the new introduction was some friend of the gaoler, as the two seemed well acquainted, and the latter stayed a few minutes talking with his visitor before leaving him in prison.  So Jacques was surprised when, after a short time had elapsed, he looked round, and saw the fierce stare with which the stranger was regarding Monsieur and