in her eyes and voice. "It is M'sieur Bell. Sister—baroness—it is M'sieur Bell!"
I advanced to meet her, and took her hand, kissing it reverently. She covered her face, her hand upon my shoulder, and wept in silence. If it meant my death, I should die thanking God I knew, or thought I knew, that she loved me.
"Ah, yes; it is M'sieur Bell—poor fellow!" said Louison, coming quickly to me. "And you, my dear, you are Ma'm'selle Louise."
She spoke quickly in French, as if quite out of patience with the poor diplomacy of her sister.
"I knew it was you, for I saw the emerald on your finger," she added, turning to me, "but I could not tell her."
"I am glad, I am delighted, that she spoke to me," I said. I desired to save the fair girl, whose heart was ever as a child's, any sorrow for what she had done. "I was about to speak myself. It is so great a pleasure to see you all I could not longer endure silence."
"They made us prisoners; they bring us here. Oh, m'sieur, it is terrible!" said the baroness.
