The woman opened her eyes and, seeing Jeanne, she rose to her feet suddenly. They stood face to face, so close that they touched one another. The stranger said crossly: "What! are you up? You will be ill, getting up at this time of night. Go back to bed!" "Who are you?" asked Jeanne. But the woman, opening her arms, picked her up and carried her back to her bed with the strength of a man. And as she laid her down gently and drew the covers over her, she leaned over close to Jeanne and, weeping as she did so, she kissed her passionately on the cheeks, her hair, her eyes, the tears falling on her face as she stammered out: "My poor mistress, Mam'zelle Jeanne, my poor mistress, don't you recognize me?" "Rosalie, my girl!" cried Jeanne, throwing her arms round her neck and hugging her as she kissed her, and they sobbed together, clasped in each other's arms. Rosalie was the first to regain her calmness. "Come," she said, "you must be sensible and not catch cold." And she covered her up warm and straightened the pillow under her former mistress' head. The latter continued to sob, trembling all over at the recollections that were awakened in her mind. She finally inquired: "How did you come back, my poor girl?" "Pardi! do you suppose I was going to leave you all alone like that, now?" replied Rosalie. "Light a candle, so I may see you," said Jeanne. And when the candle was brought to the bedside they looked at each other for some time without speaking a word. Then Jeanne, holding out her hand to her former maid, murmured: "I should not have recognized you, my girl, you have changed greatly; did you know it? But not as much as I have." And Rosalie, looking at this white-haired woman, thin and faded, whom she had left a beautiful and fresh young woman, said: "That is true, you have changed, Madame Jeanne, and more than you should. But remember, however, that we have not seen each other for twenty-five years." They were silent, thinking over the past. At length Jeanne said hesitatingly: "Have you been happy?" Rosalie, fearful of awakening certain painful souvenirs, stammered out: "Why--yes--yes--madame. I have nothing much to complain of. I have been happier than you have--that is sure. There was only one thing that always weighed on my heart, and that was that I did not stay here--" And she stopped suddenly, sorry she had referred to that unintentionally. But Jeanne replied gently: "How could you help it, my girl? One cannot always do as they wish. You are a widow now, also, are you not?" Then her voice trembled with emotion as she said: "Have you other--other children?" "No, madame." "And he--your--your boy--what has become of him? Has he turned out well?" "Yes, madame, he is a good boy and works industriously. He has been married for six months, and he can take my farm now, since I have come back to you." Jeanne murmured in a trembling voice: "Then you will never leave me again, my girl?" "No, indeed, madame, I have arranged all that."