And then the door opened, and Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye entered, followed closely by Fortunio.
At sight of Garnache she stood still, set her hand on her heart, and uttered a low cry.

Was it indeed Garnache she saw--Garnache, her brave knight-errant?
He looked no longer as he had looked during those days when he had been her gaoler; but he looked as she liked to think of him since she had accounted him dead.

He advanced to meet her, a smile in his eyes that had something wistful in it.

He held out both hands to her, and she took them, and there, under the eyes of all, before he could snatch them away, she had stooped and kissed them, whilst a murmur of "Thank God! Thank God!" escaped from her lips to heaven.
"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!" he remonstrated, when it was too late to stay her.

"You must not; it is not seemly in me to allow it." He saw in the act no more than an expression of the gratitude for what he had done to serve her, and for the risk in which his life had been so willingly placed in that service.