Ménard went to tell the servants to prepare a room in the pavilion in the garden. Meanwhile, Constance remained with Sister Anne, who was unable to express her boundless gratitude; her features were beginning already to lose their haggard, hopeless look. As she looked at her, Constance found her face more and more interesting; the dumb girl in no respect resembled those beggars who seem determined to extort alms by lamentations and importunities, and who receive it without gratitude. Sister Anne was meek and shrinking; she was amazed at the interest she inspired; her gratitude could be read in her eyes; and in her whole bearing, her whole aspect, there was something which seemed to indicate that she was not born in the lowest rank of society. "The more I look at her," thought Constance, "the more surprised I am that anyone could have deserted her. Her features are refined, her eyes sweet and full of charm. How lovely she will be in other clothes!--And you, dear love, ah! I will take good care of you!" Ménard announced that everything was ready in the pavilion for the reception of the poor woman and her son. Constance took Sister Anne's arm and led her thither, made sure that she had everything that she needed for the night, and left her, urging her not to grieve any more, but to go to bed and sleep. Sister Anne pressed her hand to her heart, and Constance said to Ménard as they walked away: "Now the time won't seem so long while Frédéric is away! I realize that the best way to divert one's thoughts from one's own troubles is to relieve those of other people." XXIX ARRIVAL OF DUBOURG.--THE STORM GATHERS On waking the next morning, Sister Anne feared for a moment that all that she saw was an illusion of her eyesight. After suffering the most horrible tortures of destitution; after wandering so long, often unable to obtain a place to lay her head and her son's; after going through all that a mother can go through who trembles every moment for her child's life--to find herself in a handsome and comfortable apartment, lying in a soft bed, and with her mind at rest concerning her future; instead of the cold contempt of pity, to receive the loving attentions of a noble-hearted woman, who added tenfold to the value of her kind acts by the grace with which she did them--was to pass abruptly into a situation so entirely different, that her softened heart feared to give way to the enjoyment of a happiness in which it could not as yet believe. Sister Anne embraced little Frédéric; then rose and took him into the garden, which surrounded on all sides the building in which she was lodged. What a lovely spot! what bliss to live there, and guide her child's first hesitating steps! He tried to run about alone among the paths bordered by roses and lilacs; when he fell, the soft gravel deadened his fall, and the child waited, smiling, for his mother to come and help him to start afresh.