truce or rest—­this combination of craft, hypocrisy, and cruelty, not from resentment for what she had endured, but to preserve from the same torments other innocent victims, who might not, like her, be able to struggle and defend themselves.  Adrienne, still under the painful impression which had been caused by her interview with Rose Simon, was leaning against one of the sides of the rustic bench on which she was seated, and held her left hand over her eyes.  She had laid down her bonnet beside her, and the inclined position of her head brought the long golden curls over her fair, shining cheeks.  In this recumbent attitude, so full of careless grace, the charming proportions of her figure were seen to advantage beneath a watered green dress, while a broad collar, fastened with a rose-colored satin bow, and fine lace cuffs, prevented too strong a contrast between the hue of her dress and the dazzling whiteness of the swan-like neck and Raphaelesque hands, imperceptibly veined with tiny azure lines.  Over the high and well-formed instep, were crossed the delicate strings of a little, black satin shoe—­for Dr. Baleinier had allowed her to dress herself with her usual taste, and elegance of costume was not with Adrienne a mark of coquetry, but of duty towards herself, because she had been made so beautiful.  At sight of this young lady, whose dress and appearance she admired in all simplicity, without any envious or bitter comparison with her own poor clothes and deformity of person, Mother Bunch said immediately to herself, with the good sense and sagacity peculiar to her, that it was strange a mad woman should dress so sanely and gracefully.  It was therefore with a mixture of surprise and emotion that she approached the fence which separated her from Adrienne —­reflecting, however, that the unfortunate girl might still be insane, and that this might turn out to be merely a lucid interval.  And now, with a timid voice, but loud enough to be heard, Mother Bunch, in order to assure herself of Adrienne’s identity, said, whilst her heart beat fast:  “Mdlle. de Cardoville!”

“Who calls me?” said Adrienne.  On hastily raising her head, and perceiving the hunchback, she could not suppress a slight cry of surprise, almost fright.  For indeed this poor creature, pale, deformed, miserably clad, thus appearing suddenly before her, must have inspired Mdlle, de Cardoville, so passionately fond of grace and beauty, with a feeling of repugnance, if not of terror—­and these two sentiments were both visible in her expressive countenance.

The other did not perceive the impression she had made.  Motionless, with her eyes fixed, and her hands clasped in a sort of adoring admiration, she gazed on the dazzling beauty of Adrienne, whom she had only half seen through the grated window.  All that Agricola had told her of the charms of his protectress, appeared to her a thousand times below the reality; and never, even in her secret poetic visions, had she dreamed of such rare perfection.  Thus, by a singular contrast, a feeling of mutual surprise came over these two girls—­extreme types of deformity and beauty, wealth and wretchedness.  After rendering, as it were, this involuntary homage to Adrienne, Mother Bunch advanced another step towards the fence.