“You are just in time, mon père,� he said, with a brutal laugh.
They stood at the entrance of a narrow cell lighted by one small window, and on the wretched pallet lay the motionless form of Madame de St. Cyr. At the sight of her grandmother’s face Rosaline awoke from her dream and running forward, fell on her knees beside her with a cry of surprise and anguish. Père Ambroise hastily closed the door behind him; he did not need to look a second time to see that M. de Baudri was to be defrauded of one victim.
“Speak to me, grand’mère,� Rosaline cried pitifully. “Oh, mon Dieu, why did I ask for one night to decide? Twelve hours ago I might have saved her!�
The sound of a beloved voice often rouses even the dying; Madame de St. Cyr stirred and opened her eyes. They dwelt lovingly on the girl for a moment, and then memory returned and an expression of horror came into her face.
“Merciful Heaven!� she gasped, rallying her forces. “Are you here, my darling?—now is death bitter indeed!�
“She is safe,� Père Ambroise interposed, his heart touched at last; “I will protect her.�
The old woman gave him a look of ineffable gratitude; she was almost beyond speech, but she laid one hand feebly on Rosaline’s head, and her lips moved as she blessed her.
“Thank the bon Dieu,� she murmured faintly, “the old tree was cut—down—and the flower—spared! Weep not, my child. Beyond—there is peace.�
Rosaline’s slender frame was shaken with agony.
“Live for me, grand’mère!� she cried; “now indeed am I desolate—and I would have saved you!�