night threatening to kill himself, had unbent the old Bretonne. Moreover, Madame de Portenduère thought it befitting her dignity to give courage to so pure a young girl, and saw that her visit would counterbalance all the harm done by the little town. Her opinion, which was doubtless more powerful than that of the common herd, would establish the power of the nobility. This overture, announced by the Abbé Chaperon, had worked a revolution in Ursule and revived hope in the disheartened doctor, who was talking of calling for a consultation with the most celebrated doctors in Paris. Ursule had been put in her guardian’s armchair, and such was the character of her beauty that, in her mourning and suffering she looked more beautiful than at any period of her happy life. When Savinien appeared with his mother on his arm, the young invalid recovered a brilliant color.
“Do not get up, my child,” said the old lady in an imperious tone: “ill and feeble as I am myself, I wanted to come and see you to tell you my opinion of what is happening; I consider you the purest, holiest, and most charming girl of the Gâtinais, and think you are worthy of constituting a nobleman’s happiness.”
At first Ursule could not answer; she took the withered hands of Savinien’s mother and kissed them while covering them with tears.
“Ah! madame,” she replied in a weakened voice, “I should never have had the boldness to think of raising myself above my station had I not been
