"I am Madame René," a woman answered, in well-spoken English, as she stepped forward from a dark corner of the room, where she had been sitting unobserved by Donald. "Who is it wishes to see Ellen Lee?"
"The boy whose life she saved!" said Donald, rising to his feet and holding out his hand, unable in his excitement to be as guarded as he had intended to be. A glance had convinced him that this was Ellen Lee, indeed. The woman, tall, dark-eyed, stately, very genteel in spite of evident poverty, was about thirty-five years of age. There was no mistaking the sudden joy in her care-worn face. She seized his hand, without a word; then, as if recollecting herself, and feeling that she must be more cautious, she eyed him sharply, saying:
"And the other? the brother? There were two. Is he living?"
For a second Donald's heart sank; but he quickly recovered himself. Perhaps she was trying tricks upon him; if so, he must defend himself as well as he could. So he answered, carelessly, but heartily, "Oh! he's alive and well, thank you, and thanks to you."
This time they looked into each other's eyes—she, with a sudden expression of disappointment, for would-be shrewd people are apt to give little credit to others for equal shrewdness.
"Did you never have a sister?" she asked, with some hesitation.
"Oh, yes!" he replied, "but I must ask you now to tell me something of Ellen Lee, and how she saved us. I can assure you of one thing—I am alive and grateful. Pray tell me your story with perfect frankness. In the first place,—are you and Ellen Lee the same?"
"Yes."
"And do you know my name?"
"Indeed I do," she said, a slow smile coming into her face. "I will be frank with you. If you are the person I believe you to be, your name is Donald Reed."