The man took off the bonnet-rouge--still she could not guess who he was.--“You never saw me in an uniform before, nor without a black face.” She looked again, and recollected the smith, to whom Maurice was bound apprentice, and remembered his _patois_ accent. “I remember you,” said he, “at any rate; and your goodness to that poor girl the day her arm was broken, and all your goodness to Maurice--But I’ve no time for talking of that now--get up, wrap this great coat round you--don’t be in a hurry, but make no noise, and follow me.” She followed him; and he led her past the sleeping sentinels, opened a back door into the garden, hurried her, almost carried her, across the garden, to a door at the furthest end of it, which opened into Les Champs Elysées--“La voilà!” cried he, pushing her through the half-opened door. “God be praised!” answered a voice, which Mad. de Fleury knew to be Victoire’s, whose arms were thrown round her with a transport of joy. “Softly; she is not safe yet--wait till we get her home, Victoire,” said another voice, which she knew to be that of Maurice. He produced a dark lantern, and guided Mad. de Fleury across the Champs Elysées, and across the bridge, and then through various by-streets, in perfect silence, till they arrived safely at the house where Victoire’s mother lodged, and went up those very stairs which she had ascended in such different circumstances several years before. The mother, who was sitting up waiting most anxiously for the return of her children, clasped her hands in an ecstasy, when she saw them return with Mad. de Fleury. “Welcome, madame! Welcome, dear madame! but who would have thought of seeing you here, in such a way? Let her rest herself--let her rest; she is quite overcome. Here, madame, can you sleep on this poor bed?” “The very same bed you laid me upon the day my arm was broken,” said Victoire. “Ay, Lord bless her!” said the mother; “and though it’s seven good years ago, it seemed but yesterday that I saw her sitting on that bed, beside my poor child, looking like an angel. But let her rest, let her rest--we’ll not say a word more, only God bless her; thank Heaven, she’s safe with us at last!” Mad. de Fleury expressed unwillingness to stay with these good people, lest she should expose them to danger; but they begged most earnestly that she would remain with them without scruple. “Surely, madame,” said the mother, “you must think that we have some remembrance of all you have done for us, and some touch of gratitude.” “And surely, madame, you can trust us, I hope,” said Maurice.