"My child! my child!" the countess cried. "Alive and here! My God, I thank thee that thou hast remembered a friendless mother at last. Have you seen him, Jeanne? What is he like? Oh, tell me everything!"
"He is a right proper young gentleman, madam. Straight and comely and tall, with brown waving hair and a bright pleasant face. A son such as any mother might be proud of."
The countess suddenly threw her arms around Jeanne's neck and burst into tears.
"You have made me so happy, Jeanne; happy as I never thought to be again. How can I thank you?"
"The best way at present, madam," Jeanne said with a smile, "will be by drinking up that tisane, and lying down quietly. Sister Felicia moves about as noiselessly as a cat, and she may pop in at any moment. Do you lie down again, and I will stand a little way off talking. Then if she comes upon us suddenly she will suspect nothing."
The countess seized the bowl of tisane and drank it off, and then threw herself on the couch.
"Go on, Jeanne, go on. Have pity on my impatience. Think how I am longing to hear of him. Did the message say he was longing to see me? But that is not possible."
"It is not quite impossible, madam; though it would be dangerous, very dangerous. Still it is not quite impossible."
"How then could it be done, Jeanne? You know what our life is here. How can I possibly see my boy?"
"What he proposes, madam, is this: that he should some night scale the river wall, and await you on the terrace, and that you should descend from your window by a rope ladder, and so return after seeing him."