result in idle despair, it would but have been with her as it was

with many. But, from the hour when she had taken the white head

to her fresh young bosom in the garret of Saint Antoine, she had

been true to her duties. She was truest to them in the season of

trial, as all the quietly loyal and good will always be.

As soon as they were established in their new residence, and

her father had entered on the routine of his avocations, she

arranged the little household as exactly as if her husband had

been there. Everything had its appointed place and its appointed

time. Little Lucie she taught, as regularly, as if they had all been

united in their English home. The slight devices with which she

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cheated herself into the show of a belief that they would soon be

reunitedthe little preparations for his speedy return, the setting

aside of his chair and his booksthese, and the solemn prayer at

night for one dear prisoner especially, among the many unhappy

souls in prison and the shadow of deathwere almost the only

outspoken reliefs of her heavy mind.

She did not greatly alter in appearance. The plain dark dresses,

akin to mourning dresses, which she and her child wore, were as

neat and as well attended to as the brighter clothes of happy days.

She lost her colour, and the old and intent expression was a

constant, not an occasional, thing; otherwise, she remained very

pretty and comely. Sometimes, at night on kissing her father, she

would burst into the grief she had repressed all day, and would say

that her sole reliance, under Heaven, was on him. He always

resolutely answered: “Nothing can happen to him without my

knowledge, and I know that I can save him, Lucie.”

They had not made the round of their changed life many weeks,

when her father said to her, on coming home one evening:

“My dear, there is an upper window in the prison, to which

Charles can sometimes gain access at three in the afternoon.

When he can get to itwhich depends on many uncertainties and

incidentshe might see you in the street, he thinks, if you stood in

a certain place that I can show you. But you will not be able to see

him, my poor child, and even if you could, it would be unsafe for

you to make a sign of recognition.”

“Oh show me the place, my father, and I will go there every

day.”

From that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours. As

the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned

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resignedly away. When it was not too wet or inclement for her

child to be with her, they went together; at other times she was

alone; but, she never missed a single day.

It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. The

hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning was the only

house at that end; all else was wall. On the third day of her being

there, he noticed her.

“Good day, citizeness.”