bedroom. After assuring herself that they were quite alone, she drew
from her bosom a soiled and crumpled letter.

"Read that," she said, making a violent effort to say the words.

She fell into a chair, seemingly exhausted. While the old man searched
for his spectacles and rubbed their glasses, she raised her eyes to
him, and seemed to study him with curiosity; then she said in an
altered voice, and very softly,--

"I trust you."

"I am here to share your crime," replied the good man, simply.

She quivered. For the first time in that little town, her soul
sympathized with that of another. The old man now understood both the
hopes and the fears of the poor woman. The letter was from her son. He
had returned to France to share in Granville's expedition, and was
taken prisoner. The letter was written from his cell, but it told her
to hope. He did not doubt his means of escape, and he named to her
three days, on one of which he expected to be with her in disguise.
But in case he did not reach Carentan by the third day, she might know
some fatal difficulty had occurred, and the letter contained his last
wishes and a sad farewell. The paper trembled in the old man's hand.

"This is the third day," cried the countess, rising and walking
hurriedly up and down.

"You have been very imprudent," said the merchant. "Why send Brigitte
to buy those provisions?"