DOES NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS MAKE AMENDS?
Before we acquaint the reader with the continuation of the drama which passed on the boats, we will go back a little. A few moments after Fleur-de-Marie had left Saint Lazare with Mrs. Seraphin, La Louve had also quitted the prison.
Thanks to the recommendation of Madame Armand and of the director, who wished to recompense her for her good action toward Mont Saint Jean, she had been also pardoned and dismissed. A complete change had taken place in this creature, heretofore so headstrong, vile, and corrupted.
Keeping constantly in mind the description made by Fleur-de-Marie of a peaceful and solitary life, La Louve held in disgust her past crimes.
Confiding in the aid which Fleur-de-Marie had promised her in the name of her unknown benefactor, La Louve determined to make this laudable proposition to her lover, not without the bitter fear of a refusal, for the Goualeuse, in leading her to blush for the past, had also given her a consciousness of her position toward Martial.
Once free, La Louve only thought of seeing him. She had received no news from him for many days. In the hope of meeting him on Ravageurs' Island, she decided to wait there if she did not find him; she got into a cab, and was rapidly driven to the Bridge of Asnieres, which she crossed about fifteen minutes before Mrs. Seraphin and Fleur-de-Marie, coming on foot, had arrived on the shore near the plaster-kiln.
As Martial did not come to take La Louve in his boat to the island, she applied to the old fisherman named Ferot, who lived near the bridge.
At four o'clock in the afternoon, a cab stopped at the entrance of a little street of Asnieres village. La Louve gave five francs to the coachman. Jumped to the ground, and ran hastily to the abode of Ferot.
Having thrown off her prison dress, she wore a robe of dark green merino, a red shawl, imitation cashmere, and a lace cap trimmed with ribbons: her thick crispy hair was scarcely smoothed. In her impatience to see Martial, she had dressed herself with more haste than care. On reaching the house of the fisherman, she found him seated at the door mending his nets.
As soon as she saw him, she cried out, "Your boat, Ferot—quick, quick."