And the messenger went up to the apartment, saw the key in the door, and entered the outer room, which was empty. "The little lady is evidently in the back room," he said to himself; "I may disturb her; but still, as she wants something moved, she must be expecting me." He began to cough, to let her know that he was there; then, as no one answered, he decided to go into the other room. He saw a woman, whose back was turned to him, as she was looking out of the window. "Excuse me, madame," said Sans-Cravate; "it's the messenger who moved you." The young woman turned, and disclosed a face, which, although very pale, was fascinating in its sweetness and simplicity. It was an assemblage of charming features: eyes of a blue as pure as a cloudless sky, and shaded by long, jet-black lashes; a small, well-proportioned nose; a tiny mouth with even, white teeth; and, lastly, imparting an infinite charm to the whole face, a something artless and touching--something which denoted that its possessor did not know how to lie. Sans-Cravate gazed at the young woman, and stood as if rooted to the floor, unable, afraid, to believe his eyes. At last he stepped forward, then stopped, looked at her again, and muttered: "Oh! my God! is it possible? is it a dream? But, no--I am mistaken--it cannot be her!" But the girl, who had begun to tremble as she looked at Sans-Cravate, and whose eyes had filled with tears, suddenly ran forward and threw herself into the messenger's arms. "Brother! can it be you? Mon Dieu! aren't you willing to recognize me?" "My own sister! my Liline!" cried Sans-Cravate, taking the girl's head in his hands, and covering her face with kisses; "so it is really you!" But the joyous expression of his face came and went like a lightning flash. He let his arms fall, stepped away from the girl, and continued with an accent of utter despair: "My sister here in Paris--with Monsieur Albert! My sister abducted--and ruined, of course! O my God! our poor father!" And Sans-Cravate sank upon a chair; he could not speak, he could not see; his forehead was burning, he was completely crushed by his grief. But his sister went to him again, she held out her arms to him, knelt at his feet, and said in a tone that went to his heart: "Forgive me, brother, I beseech you; forgive me!" That sweet voice reached the lowest depths of the messenger's heart; he raised his sister and drew her to him, saying: "But how can it have happened? Come, tell me the whole story; don't keep anything from me, for I must know all!" Adeline sat on her brother's knee, and said in a faltering tone: "Yes, I will tell you how it happened; you know that I never lie."--Then, with an intonation of the voice and a simplicity of language as ingenuous as her features, she told her story as follows: