CHAPTER III.
Scarcely were the commands of the Empress issued that no farther obstruction should be offered to the young stranger, when the brilliant crowd opened, to yield a passage to Teresa Girardi, who appeared in the midst of the throng, in a suppliant attitude, as if scarcely aware of being released from the detention of her captors.
But on a sign from Josephine—a gracious sign, instantly recognised by those around as a token of indulgence—the young Piedmontese was set at liberty; and, on finding herself free, Teresa rushed to the foot of the throne, breathless with agitation, and, bending low before the Empress, proceeded to unfold a handkerchief which she had taken from her bosom.
“A poor prisoner, madam,” said she, “implores the clemency of your majesty.” But, with every disposition to indulgence, it was impossible for the Empress to divine the meaning of the strange-looking handkerchief which Teresa Girardi, sinking on one knee, tendered to her hands.
“Have you a petition to present to me?” demanded Josephine at last, of the trembling girl, in a tone of encouragement.
“This, madam, is a petition; this is the memorial of an unfortunate captive!” persisted Teresa, still holding up the handkerchief. But tears of terror and anxiety, flowing down her cheeks, almost concealed the smile which the gracious affability of the Empress had for a moment called into existence.
“Rise, my poor girl, rise!” said Josephine, in a tone of compassion. “You appear deeply interested in the welfare of the petitioner!”