Then with a violent, almost despairing movement, she threw both arms around Roland's neck, exclaiming: "My brother! My brother!" Roland, feeling the young girl's weight press heavily upon his shoulder, exclaimed: "Air! Air! She is fainting!" and carried her out upon the portico.

It was this new group, so different from the first, which met Sir John's eyes.
As soon as she felt the fresh air, Amelie revived and raised her head.
Just then the moon, in all her splendor, shook off a cloud which had veiled her, and lighted Amelie's face, as pale as her own.

Sir John gave a cry of admiration.

Never had he seen a marble statue so perfect as this living marble before his eyes.
We must say that Amelie, seen thus, was marvelously beautiful.

Clad in a long cambric robe, which defined the outlines of her body, molded on that of the Polyhymnia of antiquity, her pale face gently inclined upon her brother's shoulder, her long golden hair floating around her snowy shoulders, her arm thrown around her mother's neck, its rose-tinted alabaster hand drooping upon the red shawl in which Madame de Montrevel had wrapped herself; such was Roland's sister as she appeared to Sir John.
At the Englishman's cry of admiration, Roland remembered that he was there, and Madame de Montrevel perceived his presence.