"And why, my child?" "True, M. Rodolph; I forget she does not know me, and will not guess how unworthy I am." And poor Fleur-de-Marie tried to suppress the deep sigh that would accompany her words. The arrival of Rodolph had, no doubt, been watched for; the driver had scarcely opened the carriage door when a prepossessing female, of middle age, dressed in the style of wealthy landholders about Paris, and whose countenance, though melancholy, was also gentle and benevolent in its expression, appeared in the porch, and with respectful eagerness advanced to meet Rodolph. Poor Goualeuse felt her cheeks flush and her heart beat as she timidly descended from the vehicle. "Good day, good day, Madame Georges," said Rodolph, advancing towards the individual so addressed, "you see I am punctual." Then turning to the driver, and putting money into his hand, he said, "Here, my friend, there is no further occasion to detain you; you may return to Paris as soon as you please." The coachman, a little, short, square-built man, with his hat over his eyes, and his countenance almost entirely concealed by the high collar of his driving-coat, pocketed the money without a word, remounted his seat, gave his horses the whip, and disappeared down the _allée verte_ by which he had entered. Fleur-de-Marie sprang to the side of Rodolph, and with an air of unfeigned alarm, almost amounting to distress, said, in a tone so low as not to be overheard by Madame Georges: "M. Rodolph! M. Rodolph! pray do not be angry, but why have you sent away the carriage? Will it not return to fetch us away?" "Of course not; I have quite done with the man, and therefore dismissed him." "But the ogress!" "What of her? Why do you mention her name?" "Alas! alas! because I must return to her this evening; indeed, indeed, I must, or--or she will consider me a thief. The very clothes I have on are hers, and, besides, I owe her--" "Make yourself quite easy, my dear child; it is my part to ask your forgiveness, not you mine." "My forgiveness! Oh, for what can you require me to pardon you?" "For not having sooner told you that you no longer owe the ogress anything; that it rests only with yourself to decide whether you will henceforward make this quiet spot your home, and cast off the garments you now wear for others my kind friend, Madame Georges, will furnish you with. She is much about your height, and can supply you with everything you require. She is all impatience to commence her part of 'aunt,' I can assure you." Poor Fleur-de-Marie seemed utterly unable to comprehend the meaning of all she saw and heard, and gazed with wondering and perplexed looks from one companion to the other, as though fearing to trust either her eyes or ears.