"Then you will always be Gretchen for me," said Monsieur Maurice, with the
sweetest smile in the world.

There were books upon the table; there was a thing like a telescope on a
brass stand in the window; there was a guitar lying on the couch. The
fire, too, was burning brightly now, and the room altogether wore a
cheerful air of habitation.

"It looks more like a lady's boudoir than a prison," said Monsieur Maurice,
reading my thoughts. "I wonder whose rooms they were before I came here!"

"They were nobody's rooms," said I. "They were quite empty."

And then I told him where we had found the furniture, and how the
ornamental part thereof had been of my choosing.

"I don't know who the ladies are," I said, referring to the portraits. "I
only chose them for their pretty faces."

"Their lovers probably did the same, petite, a hundred years ago," replied
Monsieur Maurice. "And the clock--did you choose that also?"

"Yes; but the clock doesn't go."

"So much the better. I would that time might stand still also--till I am
free! till I am free!"

The tears rushed to my eyes. It was the tone more than the words that
touched my heart. He stooped and kissed me on the forehead.