“Oh, Sir,” said Henriette piteously, “if you could use your influence to get me out of here some way, I would––would run there and recover my little lost sister! You don’t know how I love her, nor my fears that they will kill her. Please, please––” The little voice broke off in sobs.
Patting the girl’s shoulder and smiling at her as if to try to impart confidence in a very difficult matter, the good Doctor drew 97 apart with Sister Genevieve and conferred earnestly for a few moments. On their return, the physician spoke again:
“’Twould be of no use to invoke the police, as the Count has probably instructed them not to hunt for Louise. Nor is it in our power to release you from here. But we shall get up a petition signed by all of us for your reprieve, very likely Count de Linieres will not venture to refuse it––”
Henriette was overjoyed even with this slender resource, and warmly thanked them. At once her busy little brain laid plans for invading the lair of the Frochards. And then––a most unexpected ray in the darkness––arrived at Salpetriere the quaint valet Picard and brought her comfort too.
No longer a spy for the Count, he had been converted from base suspicion by the Chevalier’s honorable suit and the exile the latter had suffered. He now delivered this little message from his master at Caen:
Dearest, never will I marry anyone but you, my heart’s desire! Should I escape, it will be to your arms. Picard knows my secret plan and will tell you––until then, courage! A thousand kisses from your Maurice.
Henriette kissed the little paper fervently.
Countess de Linieres decided to make a clean breast of her wretched past to her husband. “It was not that I––I sinned,” she sobbed, kneeling at his feet, “In the sight of God I am innocent, though erring!
“In early girlhood,” she continued, “I loved and was loved by a Commoner, a man of the people. The good Cure married us secretly. We were blessed by an infant daughter.