But as he drew near the fortress called the Grand Châtelet, the Bohemian stopped; he had espied a woman, alone, who was looking about her and seemed not to know which way to turn.
She made up her mind at last, and was starting toward the Petit-Pont, when a voice called to her:
"Where are you going, Miretta? You are wrong; that is not your road."
At the first sound of that voice, Miretta—for it was she—stopped as if paralyzed by surprise; but it had no sooner ceased to speak than she cried out, with a delight which she could not hold in check:
"That voice—oh! it is his! I cannot be mistaken! Where are you, Giova——"
Before the girl could finish the name, the pretended Bohemian had taken her in his arms and strained her to his heart, saying in an undertone:
"Hush! hush! never utter that name! for it would be my destruction! it would be condemning me to death!"
"To death! Oh! forgive me, forgive me! but I am so happy, you see, at this moment! I see you once more, I find you the very first day that I am in Paris. Ah! I did not hope for so much good fortune! My dearest friend, my only love! oh! tell me that you still love me, and I will forget all the tears I have shed since you abandoned me. Tell me that you are still my lover, my beloved, my Giova——"
"Again! Ah! Miretta, you will cause my ruin!"
"Oh! forgive me! but the pleasure, the joy of seeing you after such a long separation—— I am mad, you see; I do not know what I say! Here, feel how my heart beats! it is you, it is you, who are the cause! Oh! speak to me, let me hear your loved voice again; let me be quite certain that I am not the plaything of an illusion; for this costume, this gray beard—— Oh! but it makes no difference! I see your eyes, I am sure that I am not mistaken!"