Dian turned away after he had said these words. Then looking back at Henri, he went on, “Leave any message for me, here in this hall, under the carpet by the stairs.” He went on down the hall, Lisle beside him. When they reached the cellar stairs he looked back. There was no sign or sound of any one. Henri was not following, not spying.
When they reached the first cellar, they stood for a moment by the jam shelf where the swinging lanthorn cast its light upon them. Lisle caught hold of Dian’s arm and looked up at him.
“You said I was like the first Lisle Saint Frère. You said it after I had disobeyed you. I’m sorry that I left the cellar when you trusted me to stay,” he said.
Dian held him at arm’s length, smiling the smile that seemed to transfigure him, bringing a radiance to his face.
“Yes, you did wrong. We all do. It is true that you are like the first Lisle. Listen, my child, there are great things for you to know. Awake to them! Think of the protection that has been with you and yours. You will see.” As he spoke, Dian went to the panel, and kneeling, opened it. It slid back and they descended backward into the depths.
As Lisle reached the last step, his first impression was of light, and when he turned around, a blaze of candle radiance greeted him. He put his hand to his forehead, leaning back for a moment against the rough wall.
The lighted cellar seemed unreal and so did the two figures who stood by the old, carved chest. One of the figures, with an odd cry that was half a laugh, half a sob, sprang forward and caught him about the neck. She was a wild-looking, dark child with rough black locks which flapped against his face as she clung to him, but in spite of her rags and the strangeness of her appearance, he knew, when she called his name, that it was Marie Josephine!
He was bewildered and it was not to be wondered at. After weeks of inaction in the bakery shop, the sudden wild rescue, the hidden cellar, leaving it, the episode with Henri in the hall, and now, wonder of wonders his sister, Marie Josephine! He felt her arms clinging to him and looking over her shoulder he saw—could he believe his senses?—little Jean Barbette, covered with dust and smiling out of his black eyes!
“It is Jean!” he gasped.
Jean was so delighted at Lisle’s surprise, that he began to hop about on one foot. “Yes, I came! I came all the way from Pigeon Valley to Paris! I’m going to tell Petite Mère all about it!” Jean’s eyes seemed fairly to blaze in his excitement.