"But," asked Maurice, "who is this woman?"
"Citizen, I have not seen her face; it is concealed by her mantle, and she weeps, that is all I know."
"She weeps!" exclaimed Maurice.
"Yes, but very softly, stifling her sobs."
"She weeps," repeated Maurice; "there is then some one in the world who loves me sufficiently to feel anxious in my absence?" and he ascended slowly behind the official.
"Here he is, Citizen, here he is!" cried the latter, rushing into the chamber. Maurice entered behind him.
He then beheld in a corner of the room the trembling form of a woman whose face was hid in the cushions, and whom he would have thought dead, but for her convulsive moaning, which made him start. He signed to his official to leave the room, who went out, closing the door behind him. Then Maurice ran to the young woman, who raised her head.
"Geneviève!" cried the young man, "Geneviève here! good Heavens! am I then mad?"
"No, you are in possession of your senses, my friend," replied the young woman. "I promised to be yours if you would save the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge. You have saved him, and I am here; I was awaiting you."