As she listened to these words, Fanny drank in the breath of spring and reawakening nature. With the whole energy of her being, palpitating with life, she longed for liberty. She could perceive, could taste the safety that was within her grasp. And as into the same draught was distilled an aroma of love, she clasped her hands on her breast to restrain her happiness. But, little by little, consideration, a powerful factor in her character, got the better of sentiment. She gazed steadily on the turnkey’s daughter, and said—
“Why is it, dear child, that you are prepared to devote yourself in this way to the interests of one whom you scarcely know?”
“Oh,” replied Rose, this time forgetting to use the familiar form of speech she had been employing hitherto, “it’s because your kind friend will give me a large sum of money as soon as you are free, and then I shall be able to marry Florentin, my lover. You see, citizeness, that I am working entirely in my own interests. But I am better pleased to be the means of rescuing you than one of the others.”
“I thank you for that, my child, but why the preference?”
“Because you are so dainty, and your good friend must be so weary of being separated from you. It is agreed, isn’t it?”
Fanny stretched out her hand to take the parcel of clothes Rose was offering her.
But immediately afterwards she drew it back.
“Rose, do you realize that if we are discovered it would mean death to you?”
“Death!” exclaimed the young girl. “You terrify me. Oh, no, I didn’t know that!”
Then, as quickly reassured—