"Yes, it is I," replied a faint voice. "It is really Bathilde, driven from her father's house, cursed by her father and mother, who comes to you to beg for shelter! For I have no home, they have turned me out of doors. If you spurn me, Ambroisine; if you too turn me away--then I shall remain in the street; but it will soon be over!" "I, turn you away! I, refuse you shelter, my friend, my sister!--Oh! mon Dieu! I cannot speak!" Tears choked Ambroisine, and deprived her of the use of her voice. But she led Bathilde into the house. She embraced her, strained her to her heart; she strove to warm her by her caresses; and the poor girl, reanimated by such a welcome, tried to calm her sobs, saying: "You do not turn me away--you still love me, do you not?--Ah! I am less unhappy than I was!" "Poor child! Come with me--we must dry you first of all, change your clothes. You cannot stay like this. Ah! if my father should see you in this state!" "Your father! Perhaps he would not receive me in his house; for I am very guilty, and if you knew----" "Hush! you must not talk about that now.--Wait a moment; I have an idea that he is asleep; I will just go to make sure." Ambroisine returned to the room where she had left her father. Master Hugonnet was sound asleep, with his head resting on the table. "Come to my room," said Ambroisine, returning to Bathilde and taking her hand; "father is asleep, and I did not wake him." Having reached the bedroom, the two girls threw themselves into each other's arms once more, Bathilde finding relief in weeping on her friend's breast, and Ambroisine already trying to devise a method of diminishing her companion's distress in some measure. Ambroisine first disengaged herself from that loving embrace, saying: "Mon Dieu! I forget that you are all wet, drenched! Take off all your clothes in the first place, and get into my bed; I will cover you up carefully, and you will get warm sooner." "And you, Ambroisine?" "I? oh! I will lie beside you; the bed is wide enough for us two. But first--here is some wine; you must drink some to put your blood in circulation.--Poor sister! you were out of doors in this storm!" "Oh! it had begun when my mother drove me from the house, despite my prayers and supplications. I knelt to her; she pushed me away. I threw myself at her feet--she was inexorable!" "Don't tell me that.--O my God! I do not know if Thou wilt ever grant me the happiness of being a mother; but if I do have children some day, I swear to Thee, O my God, that, whatever fault they may have committed, whatever their crimes, I will never curse them, I will never close my arms to them!" Bathilde had fallen on her knees; she clasped her hands, held them up toward heaven, and her tears flowed freely as she faltered: