"Calmez vous, mon
amie. Do not be afraid, my friend. Il vous aime et il vous cherche.
He loves you and is hunting for you. Dans quatre heures vous serez
heureuse. In four hours you will be happy. Allons du courage, et
surtout soyez maitre de vous meme. Then take courage and above all
preserve your self-possession. It is the French way of expressing
one's self," observed she. "I am glad your friend is disposed to help
you," she continued, giving me back the letter with a smile. "I am
afraid you needed it."
In a sort of maze I folded up the letter, bowed my very humble thanks
to her and shuffled slowly back. The fact is I had no words; I was
utterly dumbfounded. Half way through that letter, with whose
contents you must remember I was unacquainted, I would have given my
whole chance of expected reward to have stopped her. Read out such
words as those before these men! Was she crazy? But how naturally at
the conclusion did she with a word make its language seem consistent
with the meaning I had given it. With a fresh sense of my obligation
to her, I hurried to my room, there to count out the minutes of
another long hour in anxious expectation of her making that endeavor
to communicate with me, which her new hopes and fears must force her
to feel almost necessary to her existence.
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