Heretofore when she had yielded to her feelings and bewailed their sad lot, Phillis was at hand to cheer and caress her; but now she was alone in her deserted apartment, no one to hear her, see her, nor scold.  Why should she not abandon herself to tears?  She wept and trembled, but the moment arrived when, after having reached the extreme of despair, which showed her her son condemned as an assassin, and executed, she stopped and asked herself if she had not gone too far.

He would return; certainly she might expect him.  And she waited for him without breakfasting; he would not like to sit down to the table all alone, the poor child.

Besides, she was too profoundly overcome to eat.  She arranged the fire with care, so that the haricot of mutton would keep warm, for it was his favorite dish.

Minutes and hours passed and he did not return.  Her anguish came back; a witness would not be retained so long by the judge.  Had they arrested him?  Then what would become of him?

She fell into a state of tears and despair, and longed for Phillis.  Fortunately she would not be late to-day.  Finally a quick, light step was heard on the landing, and as soon as she could, Madame Cormier went to open the door, and was stunned on seeing the agitated face of her daughter.  Evidently Phillis was surprised by the sudden opening of the door.

“You know all, then?” Madame Cormier cried.

Phillis put her arms about her, and drew her into the dining-room, where she made her sit down.

“Becalm,” she said.  “They will not keep him.”

“You know some way?”

“We will find a way.  I promise you that they will not keep him.”

“You are sure?”

“I promise you.”

“You give me life.  But how did you know?”

“He wrote to me.  The concierge gave me his letter, which had just come.”

“What does he say?”

Madame Cormier took the letter that Phillis handed her, but the paper shook so violently in her trembling hand that she could not read.

“Read it to me.”

Phillis took it and read

“Dear little sister:  After listening to my story, the judge retains me.  Soften for mamma the pain of this blow.  Make her understand that they will soon acknowledge the falseness of this accusation; and, on your part, try to make this falseness evident, while on mine, I will work to prove my innocence.

   “Embrace poor mamma for me, and find in your tenderness, strength,
   and love, some consolation for her; mine will be to think that you
   are near her, dear little beloved sister. 
                         “Florentin.”

“And it is this honest boy that they accuse of assassination!” cried Madame Cormier, beginning to weep.

It required several minutes for Phillis to quiet her a little.

“We must think of him, mamma; we must not give up.”