This, however, it was in the power of no one to prevent. It will scarcely be believed—Anna herself could scarcely credit it afterwards—that her last words to her own sister on such an occasion as this, were words of jealous reproach.
“Do not dwell on any thing unpleasant, my love,” said Mrs. Fletcher, as she saw, by Mary’s quivering lips, that something had been said to wound her: “your sister is not herself to-day; she will soon be better.”
“How shall I know that she is?”
“M. Béranger will convey a message to you, I am sure. I will call and ask him; or perhaps he will allow Anna to come and tell you herself that she is better.”
“Madame Mesnil,” said Mary——.
“She shall see Anna to-morrow, my love; and never fear but that, among us, we shall be able to comfort her.” And after a mournful farewell, Mary again set forth, with Mr. Fletcher and Susan.
M. Béranger’s order procured them immediate admission to the jailer’s apartment, where Mary’s bundle having been tossed over by the jailer’s wife, and found to contain nothing suspicious, she took leave of her friend and of the weeping Susan, and followed her conductor to the apartment which contained her father. Hers was not the soul to recoil at the sights and sounds which met her every where in this dismal abode. The passages were empty and cold, and echoed back their footsteps. They met one or two turnkeys, who stared at the unusual sight of a lady, out of visiting hours, and looked back to see which of the cells she was about to visit. At length they stopped, and the jailer gave her the light to hold while he unbarred and unlocked the door. He observed that her hand was steady.
“One would think that Mam’selle had been used to the inside of a prison,” he observed.
Mary replied, that she had never before entered one.
“Nor Monsieur?”