Not far away was a small gate by which the road was reached. Constance opened it, and soon stood beside the unfortunate creature she longed to assist. As she drew near to her, she was even more touched, for the wayfarer's every feature was eloquent of suffering and despair; but it was for her child, above all, that she implored Constance's pity. She held him out to her, and great tears flowed from her drawn and reddened eyes. "Poor child!" said Constance; "how pale and thin he is! but what lovely features!"--And she took the child in her arms, saying to the mother: "Come, and I will give you something to restore your strength. Follow me." The woman walked a few steps, but soon fell to the ground; her strength had failed her. "Great heaven!" said Constance; "what a state the poor creature is in!--Monsieur Ménard, do come and help me take her to the house." "Here I am, here I am, madame! They were in my waistcoat pocket," said Ménard. "Oho! this young person seems sadly in need of help." "Support her--let us help her to walk. Poor woman! how she distresses me! Mon Dieu! is it possible that there can be people so unfortunate?" "Very possible, certainly, madame; but it is important to know the _causa causarum_." With the assistance of Ménard and Constance, the latter of whom carried the child as well as supported the mother, the poor woman succeeded in reaching the house. There Constance at once gave her whatever she thought would do her and the child good; and while the mother recovered her strength, she observed her with interest. "Just see," she said to Ménard, "she is still a mere girl--and already so greatly to be pitied! Her features are sweet and pathetic. Poor mother! where have you come from? what do you mean to do?" The unfortunate creature did not reply to these questions; the reader will have divined the cause: it was Sister Anne and her son to whom Constance had brought succor. Ten days had passed since the dumb girl left Paris, during which she had wandered about the country, guided by chance alone. Being forced constantly to beg for shelter and food, often repulsed, often depriving herself of sustenance to give it to her son, she had felt her strength and her courage grow less day by day; despair took possession of her mind, it sapped all her faculties, and the unhappy mother was embracing her child in momentary expectation of death, when chance, which had led her to Madame de Montreville's house, decreed that she should notice her and fly to her assistance. Surprised at receiving no reply to her questions, Constance repeated them; whereupon Sister Anne, putting her hand to her lips and mournfully shaking her head, succeeded in making her understand her pitiful condition. "O heaven! she cannot speak! Poor soul! All alone with her child, and without money, without a guide, and unable to ask her way! Oh! this is too much, too many trials at once!"