Louise pondered this speech, which did not deceive her. While still
perplexed as to her abduction, with no comprehension why she should have
been seized in such a summary manner and spirited to this lonely,
out-of-the-way place, she realized she was in no immediate danger. Her
weariness returned tenfold, and she staggered and caught the back of a
chair for support.

The old woman observed this.

"Ma'm'selle is tired," said she. "See; it is past four by the clock, and
you must be much fatigue by the ride and the nervous strain."

"I--I'm completely exhausted," murmured Louise, drooping her head
wearily. The next moment she ran and placed her hands on Madame Cerise's
shoulders, peering into the round, beady eyes with tender pleading as
she continued: "I don't know why I have been stolen away from my home
and friends; I don't know why this dreadful thing has happened to me; I
only know that I am worn out and need rest. Will you take care of me,
Madame Cerise? Will you watch over me while I sleep and guard me from
all harm? I--I haven't any mother to lean on now, you know; I haven't
any friend at all--but _you!_"

The grim features never relaxed a muscle; but a softer look came into
the dark eyes and the woman's voice took on a faint tinge of compassion
as she answered:

"Nothing can harm ma'm'selle. Have no fear, _ma chere_. I will take care
of you; I will watch. _Allons_! it is my duty; it is also my pleasure."