death, Mdlle. de Cardoville would have waited some time, before inducing Mother Bunch to rise and accompany her to her carriage.  Thanks to the presence of mind and pious fraud of Adrienne, the sewing-girl was persuaded that Cephyse had been carried to a neighboring hospital, to receive the necessary succors, which promised to be crowned with success.  The hunchback’s faculties recovering slowly from their stupor, she at first received this fable without the least suspicion—­for she did not even know that Agricola had accompanied Mdlle. de Cardoville.

“And it is to you, lady, that Cephyse and I owe our lives,” said she, turning her mild and melancholy face towards Adrienne, “you, kneeling in this garret, near this couch of misery, where I and my sister meant to die—­for you assure me, lady, that Cephyse was succored in time.”

“Be satisfied!  I was told just now that she was recovering her senses.”

“And they told her I was living, did they not, lady?  Otherwise, she would perhaps regret having survived me.”

“Be quite easy, my dear girl!” said Adrienne, pressing the poor hands in her own, and gazing on her with eyes full of tears; “they have told her all that was proper.  Do not trouble yourself about anything; only think of recovering—­and I hope you will yet enjoy that happiness of which you have known so little, my poor child.”

“How kind you are, lady!  After flying from your house—­and when you must think me so ungrateful!”

“Presently, when you are not so weak, I have a great deal to tell you.  Just now, it would fatigue you too much.  But how do you feel?”

“Better, lady.  This fresh air—­and then the thought, that, since you are come—­my poor sister will no more be reduced to despair; for I will tell you all, and I am sure you will have pity on Cephyse—­will you not, lady?”

“Rely upon me, my child,” answered Adrienne, forced to dissemble her painful embarrassment; “you know I am interested in all that interests you.  But tell me,” added Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a voice of emotion, “before taking this desperate resolution, did you not write to me?”

“Yes, lady.”

“Alas!” resumed Adrienne, sorrowfully; “and when you received no answer—­how cruel, how ungrateful you must have thought me!”

“Oh! never, lady, did I accuse you of such feelings; my poor sister will tell you so.  You had my gratitude to the last.”

“I believe you—­for I knew your heart.  But how then did you explain my silence?”

“I had justly offended you by my sudden departure, lady.”

“Offended!—­Alas!  I never received your letter.”

“And yet you know that I wrote to you, lady.”

“Yes, my poor girl; I know, also, that you wrote to me at my porter’s lodge.  Unfortunately, he delivered your letter to one of my women, named Florine, telling her it came from you.”

“Florine! the young woman that was so kind to me!”