"I will go and look after her," said Constance; "I will take her her son, and perhaps, when she sees him---- Aren't you coming with me, Frédéric; won't you add your efforts to mine to pacify the poor, unhappy creature?" Frédéric hesitated; he did not know what it was best for him to do. He longed to see Sister Anne, whose terrible plight had torn his heart; but he was afraid of betraying himself when he saw her. At that moment, they heard cries in the garden; they looked out and saw Sister Anne running hither and thither, pursued by the servants and Dubourg. The former, when they saw how intensely excited she was, rushing in all directions, with her hair flying in the wind, had no doubt that she had lost her reason; and Dubourg confirmed them in that idea, which might prevent their guessing the truth. But Sister Anne spied Frédéric at one of the windows on the ground floor; instantly she rushed in that direction, entered the room, and, in the twinkling of an eye, threw herself into Frédéric's arms, pushing away Constance, who stood beside him, and looking at her with a jealous and at the same time anxious expression, as if to say: "I alone have the right to be here." The servants halted in the doorway and gazed at the picture before them. Constance felt a terrible sinking at the heart when she saw Sister Anne in her husband's arms; but she retained sufficient strength to walk toward the servants and say in a trembling voice: "Go, my friends; this unhappy woman is not in her right mind, but we shall be able to pacify her." The servants retired; Ménard had gone in search of Dubourg, to whom he always had recourse at difficult crises; Sister Anne was left alone with her son and Frédéric and Constance. The dumb girl seemed as if she would attach herself inseparably to Frédéric, who had not the courage to push her away. She smiled at him, she took his hands and held them to her heart, then pointed to their son. At the same time, she glanced uneasily at Constance, who was seated a few steps away, with her face hidden in her hands, unable to endure that scene. But her tears were suffocating her; they burst forth at last, and she sobbed as if her heart would break. Sister Anne shuddered. Constance's grief seemed to touch her to the quick. Frédéric could contain himself no longer; he ran and threw himself at his wife's feet; but she, without looking at him, gently repulsed him. "Go, go," she said; "this unhappy girl has more claim to your love than I; this child is your son. Console her for all she has suffered since you deserted her. I know the whole truth now. No; she has not lost her reason; she has found her seducer, the father of her child!"