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Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. I am no one, Gérard. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. " "Before that time you will be captured, if you expose yourself thus," rejoined Thames. Anything that drew attention to her must be avoided. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing.
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