"If my father," she thought during the long sleepless hours, "had been received by his sister, if his rights had been recognized, the Duchess would not have dared to outrage me with this proposition. Can René be imprisoned? He must be living, or his mother would not seek to marry me to Jean Vilon. In this plot, I see the hand of Volpetti. I wonder if the spy was not one of the servants. I think I recognized him. O they would be rid of me, and, not daring to kill me, they think to marry me basely. For so could the Duchess free her son and they have one more pretext for disclaiming my father's pretensions--But Baby Dick? What is to become of him?" Terror stricken she walked the floor. She began to comprehend how great was the love which bound her to the frail being to whom she had been playing the role of mother. She reproached herself cruelly for having contributed to orphan the little fellow. His beauty, his grief at being separated from her, his caresses, his cunning little ways, all these surged to her mind and seemed to obliterate her other griefs. "What does this mean? I know not my father's whereabouts; René is likely in grave danger; but my thoughts are absorbed with this child who is joined to me by no tie, whom chance placed in my arms and violence removed." Morning dawned and she had not closed her eyes. The birth of day brought calmness as it does to all human souls. She had no longer need of concealment, so, running to the windows, she flung them wide open, heedless of the warning that death would ensue, which Vilon had given her when she arrived in the Castle. The light streamed into the Marquise's boudoir. The capricious antiquated draperies became illuminated like a stage setting, contrasting with the desolate magnificence of the exterior and the sombre massiveness of the towers which the sun began to brighten. Amélie looked out through those windows for the first time. "What will they do to Baby?" she asked herself. "What can they do? Nothing more than separate him from me I suppose. But he has become so dear to me--Still that shall not break my will. _I_ the wife of Jean Vilon?--What is the meaning of this? How has he dared lend himself to the scheme? Why has he let the Duchess in? O his passion explains it all. How repellent!--Better death a thousand times." She gazed vacantly upon the faded silken hangings, the sumptuous furniture and elegant old laces; she caught her image in the mirrors of magnificent frames wherein the Marquise had so often beheld her pallid wasted features. Suddenly, she started, listening affrightedly to Baby Dick's cry in the next room. "Mamma 'Mélie! Mamma 'Mélie!" he called. "Come! Give me breakfast. It is very late." With passion of which she had not deemed herself capable, she ran to the door and shook it violently, crying: "My little heart, I can't come to you. Wait. Be very patient." "My pretty mamma, I am alone. That bad lady shut me in. O break the door, mamma."