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"I tell you, Rudolph, that all this is fate providential. Some months since, you rescued a poor girl from poverty, to send her to the country is it not so?" "Yes, to Bouqueval." "Jealousy and hatred drove me wild. I caused this young girl to be carried off by the woman of whom I have spoken." "And she took the unhappy child to Saint Lazare?" "Where she yet is." "She is there no longer.
But these sad thoughts were soon dispelled at the hope of seeing Bouqueval, Madame George, and Rudolph again; to the latter she wished to recommend La Louve and Martial; it even seemed to her that the sentiment which she reproached herself for having felt towards her benefactor, being no longer nourished by sorrow and by solitude, would be calmed and modified as soon as she should resume the rustic occupations which she loved so much to partake with the good and honest inhabitants of the farm.
"These are those very remembrances I wish to put an end to, my dear Clemence: we must approach them boldly, and I am sure that I shall find in Rigolette's letter excellent arms against them, for this excellent little creature adored our child, and appreciated her as she should be." And Rudolph read aloud the following letter: "Bouqueval Farm, August 15th, 1841.
From that time, they say in the papers, she has been called 'Mrs. Rifle. Excuse this long letter, my lord, but I thought you would not be sorry to hear from us concerning those whose good Providence you have been. I write to you from the farm at Bouqueval, where we have been since spring with our good mother. Germain leaves every morning for his business, and returns at night.
"Is he still at the farm, where he went on coming out of prison, and from which he wrote us to announce M. Ferrand's discontinuance of the suit?" "Probably, for yesterday I went to the place where he directed us to go; they told me that he was still in the country, and that I could write to him at Bouqueval, near Ecouen, at Madame George's."
"The Goualeuse! yes! that is the name the woman mentioned this woman called La Chouette. Dead dead!" cried Sarah, still motionless, her eyes fixed and glaring; "they have killed her!" "Sarah!" replied Rudolph, as pale and alarmed as she, "calm yourself answer me La Goualeuse this girl whom you caused to be carried off by La Chouette from Bouqueval, was " "Our child!" "She!"
"You are not mistaken. But come, we are rather late, and we have got a long road to travel." "We are going to Bouqueval Farm, to Madame George, ma'am?" cried La Goualeuse.
Let the reader imagine the astonishment of the poor Goualeuse, who knew no other splendors than those of the farm at Bouqueval, on traversing these princely apartments, resplendent with gold, mirrors, and paintings.
Confiding in the kind promise of Madame d'Harville, Fleur-de-Marie had been expecting for two days to leave Saint Lazare. Although she had no reason for inquietude at the delay, she from her habitual misfortunes, hardly dared to hope soon for freedom. Naturally, from the expectation of so soon seeing her friends at Bouqueval and Rudolph, Fleur-de-Marie should have been transported with joy.
"I shall not remain here Paris is hateful to me; to-morrow I go " "You are right, my lord." "We will stop at the farm of Bouqueval. I will shut myself up for some hours in her chamber, where she passed the only happy days of her life.
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