Besides, Marius was not one of those men who mistrust their first impulse, who manifest their emotion only for a purpose, who reflect and calculate before giving themselves up to the inspirations of their heart. Lucienne was the daughter of the Marquis de Tregars: of that he was absolutely certain. He knew that the same blood flowed in his veins and in hers; and he told her so. He told her so, above all, because he believed her in danger; and he wished, were she to die, that she should have, at least, that supreme joy. Poor Lucienne! Never had she dared to dream of such happiness. All her blood rushed to her cheeks; and, in a voice vibrating with the most intense emotion, “Ah, now, yes,” she uttered, “I would like to live.” The commissary of police, also, felt moved. “Do not be alarmed, my child,” he said in his kindest tone. “Before two weeks you will be up. M. de Tregars is a great physician.” In the mean time, she had attempted to raise herself on her pillow; and that simple effort had wrung from her a cry of anguish. “Dear me! How I do suffer!” “That’s because you won’t keep quiet, my darling,” said Mme. Fortin in a tone of gentle scolding. “Have you forgotten that the doctor has expressly forbidden you to stir?” Then taking aside the commissary, Maxence, and M. de Tregars, she explained to them how imprudent it was to disturb Mlle. Lucienne’s rest. She was very ill, affirmed the worthy hostess; and her advice was, that they should send for a sick-nurse as soon as possible. She would have been extremely happy, of course, to spend the night by the side of her dear lodger; but, unfortunately, she could not think of it, the hotel requiring all her time and attention. Fortunately, however, she knew in the neighborhood a widow, a very honest woman, and without her equal in taking care of the sick. With an anxious and beseeching look, Maxence was consulting M. de Tregars. In his eyes could be read the proposition that was burning upon his lips, “Shall I not go for Gilberte?” But that proposition he had no time to express. Though they had been speaking very low, Mlle. Lucienne had heard. “I have a friend,” she said, “who would certainly be willing to sit up with me.” They all went up to her. “What friend,” inquired the commissary of police. “You know her very well, sir. It is that poor girl who had taken me home with her at Batignolles when I left the hospital, who came to my assistance during the Commune, and whom you helped to get out of the Versailles prisons.” “Do you know what has become of her?” “Only since yesterday, when I received a letter from her, a very friendly letter. She writes that she has found money to set up a dressmaking establishment, and that she is relying upon me to be her forewoman. She is going to open in the Rue St. Lazare; but, in the mean time, she is stopping in the Rue du Cirque.” M. de Tregars and Maxence had started slightly. “What is your friend’s name?” they inquired at once.