"This way, ma'am--this way--he lives in the corner house, turning into Golden-square." It was a stationer's. "I have called at this house already," said Mad. de Rosier; but she recollected that it was when the family were at dinner, and that a stupid maid had not understood her questions. She was unable to speak, through extreme agitation, when she came to the shop: the little dulcimer boy walked straight forward, and gently drew back the short curtain that hung before a glass door, opening into a back parlour. Mad. de Rosier sprang forward to the door, looked through the glass, and was alarmed to see a young man taller than her son; he was at work; his back was towards her. When he heard the noise of some one trying to open the door, he turned and saw his mother's face! The tools dropped from his hands, and the dulcimer boy was the only person present who had strength enough to open the door. How sudden! how powerful is the effect of joy! The mother, restored to her son, in a moment felt herself invigorated--and, forgetful of her fatigue, she felt herself another being. When she was left alone with her son, she looked round his little workshop with a mixture of pain and pleasure. She saw one of his unfinished boxes on the window-seat, which served him for a work-bench; his tools were upon the floor. "These have been my support," said her son, taking them up: "how much am I obliged to my dear father for teaching me early how to use them!" "Your father!" said Mad. de Rosier--"I wish he could have lived to be rewarded as I am! But tell me your history, from the moment you were taken from me to prison: it is nearly two years ago,--how did you escape? how have you supported yourself since? Sit down, and speak again, that I may be sure that I hear your voice."