"Rise, my dear child," said the curé; "you will soon deserve absolution from those serious faults of which you have rather been the victim than the criminal; for, in the words of the prophet, 'The Lord raises up all those who are ready to fall, and elevates those who are oppressed.'" Murphy, at this moment, opened the door. "M. Rodolph," he said, "the horses are ready." "Adieu, father! adieu, Madame Georges! I commend your child to your care,--our child, I should say. Farewell, Marie; I will soon come and see you again." The venerable pastor, leaning on the arms of Madame Georges and La Goualeuse, who supported his tottering steps, left the room to see Rodolph depart. The last rays of the sun shed their light on this interesting yet sad group: An old priest, the symbol of charity, pardon, and everlasting hope; a female, overwhelmed by every grief that can distress a wife and mother; a young girl, hardly out of her infancy, and but recently thrown into an abyss of vice through misery and the close contact with crime. Rodolph got into the carriage, Murphy took his place by his side, and the horses set off at speed. CHAPTER XII. THE RENDEZVOUS. The day after he had confided the Goualeuse to the care of Madame Georges, Rodolph, still dressed as a mechanic, was, at noon precisely, at the door of a cabaret with the sign of the Panier-Fleuri, not far from the barrier of Bercy. The evening before, at ten o'clock, the Chourineur was punctual to the appointment which Rodolph had fixed with him. The result of this narrative will inform our readers of the particulars of the meeting. It was twelve o'clock, and the rain fell in torrents; the Seine, swollen by perpetual falls of rain, had risen very high, and overflowed a part of the quay. Rodolph looked from time to time, with a gesture of impatience, towards the barrier, and at last observed a man and woman, who were coming towards him under the shelter of an umbrella, and whom he recognised as the Chouette and the Schoolmaster. These two individuals were completely metamorphosed. The ruffian had laid aside his ragged garments and his air of brutal ferocity. He wore a long frock coat of green cloth, and a round hat; whilst his shirt and cravat were remarkable for their whiteness. But for the hideousness of his features and the fierce glance of his eyes, always restless and suspicious, this fellow might have been taken, by his quiet and steady step, for an honest citizen. The Chouette was also in her Sunday costume, wearing a large shawl of fine wool, with a large pattern, and held in her hand a capacious basket.