Oh yes! dark indeed! for yonder sits Françonnette: there she sits, bowed down with the blow which has overwhelmed her: she weeps in her chamber, and her heart knows no relief. Young girls often weep, and forget their sorrow quickly; but she----her grief is too deep, and it is one which tears cannot soften. The daughter of a Huguenot! one banished from the Church--sold to the demon! ah! it is too horrible! The grandmother tells her in vain--"My child, it is false!" She does not listen: there is none but her father can resolve her doubts, and prove to her that it is not true; but no one knows his place of abode; she is alone--she is terrified--oh! so terrified, that she believes it. "What a change!" she cries. "I who, but now, was so happy--I, who was Queen of the Meadows and could command all--I, for whom every youth would have gone barefooted amongst a nest of serpents--to be contemned, avoided, the terror of the country! And Pascal--he also flies me, as if I were a pest: yet I pitied him in his wretchedness; perhaps he has no pity to bestow on me." It was not so; and she has yet some comfort in her misery: she learns that Pascal is her defender: this is a balm to her wounded spirit; and, as her only relief, she thinks of him often. Suddenly she hears a cry; she flies to her grandmother, who has just waked from sleep: "The fire is not here; the walls do not burn! Oh God, what a mercy!" "What were you dreaming, dear grandmother--answer me--what is it?" "Unfortunate girl! I dreamt it was night; brutal men came to our house, and set it on fire. You cried; you exerted yourself to save me, but you could not, and we both were burnt. Oh, I have suffered much! come to my arms! let me embrace my child!"