"Thank you, madame," said Lorraine, with a smile of bitter resignation. "I had a child, it is dead; I am in a decline and past all hope." "What a gloomy idea! At your age there is always hope." "Oh, no, madame, I saw a consumptive patient die last night. Yet as you are so good, a great lady like you must be able to do anything." "Tell me, what do you wish?" "Since I have seen the actress who is dead so distressed at the idea of being cut in pieces after her death, I have the same fear. Jeanne had promised to claim my body, and have me buried." "Ah, this is horrible!" said Clemence, shuddering. "Be tranquil, although I hope the time is far distant, yet, when it comes, be assured that your body shall rest in holy ground." "Oh, thank you--thank you, madame!" exclaimed Lorraine. "Might I beg to kiss your hand?" Clemence presented her hand to the parched lips of Lorraine. Half an hour afterwards, Madame d'Harville, who had been painfully affected by Lorraine's condition, accompanied by M. de Saint-Remy, took with her the young orphan, from whom she concealed her mother's death. The same day, Madame d'Harville's man of business, after having obtained favourable particulars respecting Jeanne Duport's character, hired for her some large and airy rooms, and the same evening she was conveyed to her new residence, where she found her children and a nurse. The same individual was instructed to claim and inter the body of Lorraine when she died. After having conveyed Mlle. de Fermont to her own house, Madame d'Harville started for Asnieres with M. de Saint-Remy, in order to go to Fleur-de-Marie, and take her to Rodolph. CHAPTER V. HOPE. Spring was approaching, and already the sun darted a more genial warmth, the sky was blue and clear, while the balmy air seemed to bring life and breath upon its invigorating wings. Among the many sick and suffering who rejoiced in its cheering presence was Fleur-de-Marie, who, leaning on the arm of La Louve, ventured to take gentle exercise in the little garden belonging to Doctor Griffon's house; the vivifying rays of the sun, added to the exertion of walking, tinged the pale, wasted countenance of La Goualeuse with a faint glow that spoke of returning convalescence. The dress she had worn when rescued from a watery grave had been destroyed in the haste with which the requisite attempts had been made for her resuscitation, and she now appeared in a loose wrapping dress of dark blue merino, fastened around her slender waist by worsted cord of the same colour as the robe. "How cheering the sun shines!" said she to La Louve, as she stopped beneath a thick row of trees, planted beside a high gravelled walk facing the south, and on which was a stone bench. "Shall we sit down and rest ourselves here a few minutes?"