"How happy I am to see you, neighbor," said she to Rudolph, when he came out of the lodge. "I have many things to tell you."
"In the first place, how do you do? Let me look at your pretty face. Is it still gay and rosy? Alas! no; I find you pale. I am sure you work too much."
"Oh! no, M. Rudolph; I assure you I am now used to this little increase of work. What changes me is grief. Every time I see poor Germain I become still more sad."
"He is then very much depressed?"
"More than ever, M. Rudolph; and what is annoying is, that everything that I do to console him increases his despondency; it is like a spell." A tear obscured her large black eyes.
"Explain this to me."
"For instance, yesterday I went to see him to take a book he wished to have, because it was a romance that we used to read together in our happy days. At the sight of this book, he burst into tears, which did not surprise me, it was very natural. Dear memento of our evenings, so quiet, so pleasant, seated by my stove, in my snug little room, to compare with this frightful life in prison. Poor Germain! it is very cruel!"
"Be comforted," said Rudolph to the young girl. "When Germain gets out of prison, and his innocence is acknowledged, be will find his mother and friends, and he will soon forget, in their society and yours, the terrible moments of trial."
"Yes, but until then, M. Rudolph, he is going to be still more tormented. And besides, this is not all."
"What is there besides?"