HER NAME IS LOUISE
SAVE HER
“My child! My own Louise!” she cried, “––lost, wandering and blind in Paris. Tell me, tell me––” She had almost fainted. The floodgate of tears relieved her pent heart.
Henriette was bending over her now, her arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort.
But the girl herself was near the breaking point. The voice of the loved and absent one seemed to sound in her ears.
Was it an hallucination?
“Singing,––don’t you hear?” said Henriette, softly, to the Mother.
The girl brushed a hand across her eyes and tapped her temple.
“In my dreams oft I hear it, my sister’s voice. I must be losing my reason!”
Again swelled the notes of the Norman melody, and this time the Mother heard too.