"Certainly I will see her; then I shall have two protegees instead of one, Louise Morel and La Goualeuse, for all you tell me relative to this poor girl interests me excessively. But what must be done to obtain her liberty? I will then find a situation for her. I will take care of her in future." "With your connections, madame, it will be very easy for you to obtain her liberty the day after to-morrow, for it is at the discretion of the Prefect of Police, and the application of a person of consequence would be decisive with him. But I have wandered from the observation which I made on the slumber of La Goualeuse; and, with reference to this, I must confess that I should not be astonished if, to the deeply painful feeling of her first error, there is added some other grief no less severe." "What mean you, madame?" "Perhaps I am deceived; but I should not be astonished if this young girl, rescued by some circumstance from the degradation in which she was first plunged, has now some honest love, which is at the same time her happiness and her torment." "What are your reasons for believing this?" "The determined silence which she keeps as to where she has passed the three months which followed her departure from the Cite makes me think that she fears being discovered by the persons with whom she in all probability found a shelter." "Why should she fear this?" "Because then she would have to own to a previous life, of which they are no doubt ignorant." "True; her peasant's dress." "And then a subsequent circumstance has confirmed my suspicions. Yesterday evening, when I was walking my round of inspection in the dormitory, I went up to La Goualeuse's bed. She was in a deep sleep, and, unlike her companions, her features were calm and tranquil. Her long, light hair, half disengaged from their bands, fell in profusion down her neck and shoulders. Her two small hands were clasped, and crossed over her bosom, as if she had gone to sleep whilst praying. I looked for some moments with interest at her lovely face, when, in a low voice, and with an accent at once respectful, sad, and impassioned, she uttered a name." "And that name?" After a moment's silence, Madame Armand replied, gravely: "Although I consider that anything learnt during sleep is sacred, yet you interest yourself so generously in this unfortunate girl, madame, that I will confide this name to your secrecy. It was Rodolph." "Rodolph!" exclaimed Madame d'Harville, thinking of the prince. Then, reflecting that, after all, his highness the Grand Duke of Gerolstein could have no connection with the Rodolph of the poor Goualeuse, she said to the inspectress, who seemed astonished at her exclamation: "The name has surprised me, madame, for, by a singular chance, it is that of a relation of mine; but what you tell me of La Goualeuse interests me more and more. Can I see her to-day? now--directly?"