Marguerite flung open the windows, and brought water, with which Jacques bathed that white face; but it was very long before a faint breath proclaimed that the locked heart had commenced to beat again. “Mamma! Mamma! Can you hear me?” The woman turned her great eyes wistfully upon that eager face. “Let me tell you slowly, mamma. Do not try to take it in all at once, but word by word.” Madame Gosner sat upright, but she seemed like a person coming out of a dream. She swept the hair back from her temples, threading it through her fingers, and whispered, “There is white in it. He would not know me.” Then she turned slowly toward Marguerite, and questioned her. “You were saying something about _him_?—or is it that I have dreamed?” She said this mournfully and in doubt, not yet having come out of her bewilderment; but as her heavy eyes were uplifted to the girl’s face, they kindled under the glow of happiness which met them in every beautiful feature. “Is it true? Did they give us hope?” “Mamma, I have an order for his release.” “No! Tell it me again. I do not believe it—of course I do not believe it, such words have mocked me so often; but you look as if it might be—and this man. Ah! it is Monsieur Jacques; tell me, monsieur, and I will believe you. Is there really a hope?” “Dear lady, have a little patience, try and compose yourself. To-morrow your husband will be here!” “And you say this? To-morrow! Oh, mother of God! how I have prayed, worked, suffered, and now my heart refuses to receive this great joy. It is so used to sorrow—oh, my friend! it is so used to sorrow.” “But a brighter day is coming,” said Monsieur Jacques. “I cannot believe it. God help me, I cannot believe it.” The poor woman lifted both hands to her face, and, all at once, burst into a storm of tears. Thus she sat, rocking to and fro, while the ice in her heart broke up and let the sunshine of a mighty joy shine in. When the woman lifted her face again it was wet, but radiant. Marguerite threw herself upon her knees before the transfigured woman. “You are beginning to believe, I see it in your face, I can feel it in the heaving of your bosom, in the trembling of your hands. Mamma, mamma! it is true.” “I know; but to-morrow seems so far off. Could we not go at once? After so many years, they might cut off an hour or two.” She appealed to Monsieur Jacques, who shook his head. “I should feel sure then?” she said, piteously. “Be sure, as it is; no one would deceive you.” “He might—I mean the king.” “Not so. Louis is a kind man, lacking somewhat in courage to act promptly; but there is neither treachery or falsehood in him.” Madame Gosner drew a deep breath, and a look of forced resignation came to her face. “It seems but a little time,” she said, “and I have waited so long; but these few hours seem harder to bear than all the lost years.” “But they will soon pass.”