Hubert looked up.  ‘M.  Arture!  M. Arture!  Risen from the dead!’ he cried, threw himself into the young man’s arms, and burst out into a vehement sob; but in a second he recovered his manners and fell back, while Estelle looked up.

‘M.  Arture,’ she repeated.  ’Ah! is it you?  Then, is my mamma alive and safe?’

‘Alas! no,’ replied Arthur; ’but your little brother is safe and well at Algiers, and this good man, the Marabout, is come to deliver you.’

’My mamma said you would protect us, and I knew you would come, like Mentor, to save us,’ said Estelle, clasping her hands with ineffable joy.  ‘Oh, Monsieur!  I thank you next to the good God and the saints!’ and she began fervently kissing Arthur’s hand.  He turned to salute the Abbe, but was shocked to see how much more vacant the poor gentleman’s stare had become, and how little he seemed to comprehend.

‘Ah!’ said Estelle, with her pretty, tender, motherly air, ’my poor uncle has never seemed to understand since that dreadful day when they dragged him and Maitre Hebert out into the wood and were going to kill them.  And he has fever every night.  But, oh, M. Arture, did you say my brother was safe?’ she repeated, as if not able to dwell enough upon the glad tidings.

‘And I hope you will soon be with him,’ said Arthur.  ’But, Mademoiselle, let me present you to the Grand Marabout, a sort of Moslem Abbe, who has come all this way to obtain your release.’

He led Estelle forward, when she made a courtesy fit for her grandmother’s salon, and in very fluent Cabeleyze dialect gave thanks for the kindness of coming to release her, and begged him to excuse her uncle, who was sick, and, as you say here, ‘stricken of Allah.’

The little French demoiselle’s grace and politeness were by no means lost on the Marabout, who replied to her graciously; and at the sight of her reading M. Dessault’s letter, which the interpreter presented to her, one of the suite could not help exclaiming, ’Ah! if women such as this will be went abroad in our streets, there would be nothing to hope for in Paradise.’

Estelle did not seem to have suffered in health; indeed, in Arthur’s eyes, she seemed in these six weeks to have grown, and to have more colour, while her expression had become less childish, deeper, and higher.  Her hair did not look neglected, though her dress—­the same dark blue which she had worn on the voyage—­had become very ragged and soiled, and her shoes were broken, and tied on with strips of rag.

She gave a little scream of joy when the parcel of clothes sent by the French Consul was given to her, only longing to send some to Victorine before she retired to enjoy the comfort of clean and respectable clothes; and in the meantime something was attempted for the comfort of her companions, though it would not have been safe to put them into Frankish garments, and none had been brought.  Poor Hebert was the very ghost of the stout and important maitre d’hotel, and, indeed, the faithful man had borne the brunt of all the privations and sufferings, doing his utmost to shield and protect his little mistress and her helpless uncle.